Son of Xerxes
by Irlandaise
Summary: Life was supposed to be simpler, safer, once the homunculi were eliminated. Little did Ed know that the greatest danger lay within himself... Slight AU, updated biweekly.
1. Chapter 1 Monolith

_ Author's note: This story mostly follows the canon of the manga, though certain events involving the end of the series and the Promised Day are somewhat different. A large chunk of the story is already written, but I am looking for a beta reader. Please let me know if you're interested._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

Chapter 1:

Monolith

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The wind ghosted along the back of his neck, bringing with it the last heat of the day; Edward heaved a deep breath, enjoying the spicy smell of mesquite and creosote. The last time he had been in the desert, it had been in the sandy, scorching lowlands to the southeast. He was finding that he liked the knife-edge beauty of the highlands, whose apparent barrenness masked a hard-earned diversity of life. Now if only he could find that damned camp…

"Sir! Mr. Fullmetal!" The voice echoed across the gullies and washes, sounding flat in the dry desert air. Edward turned with an exasperated grin, regarding the thin, graying man who waved to him from the crest of a nearby hill. He returned the greeting.

"Jacques!" Edward pulled his mule's head around to the right, letting it pick its own way up the rocky slope. When he drew even with his host, he smirked. "I told you last time we met, you can just call me Ed."

The researcher shrugged, his cheerful grin unrepentant. "When you've spent as much time as I have in the company of State Alchemists, you quickly get in the habit of using proper titles."

Ed slapped him on the back, "Then we're both lucky I'm not a State Alchemist anymore, huh?" The two men started towards a cliff face a half mile or so in the distance. As they drew closer Ed could see the pale canvas tents set along the base. It was only as they descended the final hill towards camp that his eyes could pick out the dwellings built into the base of the cliff. They were made of mud-covered stone that blended almost perfectly with the living rock, and it was only the black oblongs of doors and windows that gave away their position.

The archaeological camp itself was a beehive of activity as the researchers took advantage of the fading light. A flat section of the desert floor about a hundred yards away from the cliff dwellings was roped off into a grid pattern, the tell-tale geometry of a foundation wall beginning to be unearthed. Surveying and excavation equipment stood about in organized chaos, and a cadre of what Ed suspected were graduate students were bent over their work, meticulously cataloguing the minute ephemera of ancient life. Jacques showed Edward where to leave his pack, and corralled a grad student into taking the mule.

Ed stretched his back, glad to be back on his own two feet again. "So where do we start? Professor Hawkins said you'd found something interesting?"

The researcher nodded, "Yes, and I think it's right up your alley. I understand you've been looking into alternative forms of alchemy?" Ed nodded. "We found a monolith with an unusual array carved into it."

"Unusual how?"

"First of all, I'm by no means an alchemist; I know the basics, things that are useful for my line of work, amateur-level stuff." Jacques shrugged. "This, though, looks like nothing I've ever seen."

"Isn't it a little weird to find something like that here? These cliff dwellings look pretty primitive, and ancient alchemy was developed in cities, not out here in the sticks."

His host nodded. "Normally that would be true; however, we believe that this site held significance for early inhabitants of the area. The dwellings appear to be intended for temporary, short-term use, possibly by visiting pilgrims."

"Why would people travel all the way out here for a pilgrimage?"

"So they could hear the voice of the earth." Jacques laughed at Ed's baffled expression, "Come on, I'll show you."

He led the alchemist along a dirt path that wound past the excavation site and down into a gully beyond. Over the centuries the area's infrequent rains had eroded the soil, leaving a small outcropping of red sandstone jutting from the side of the gully. Jacques climbed up the rocks, gesturing for Ed to follow.

What he found was a vent in the stone, as long as his forearm and a couple of handspans wide. Edward leaned over, trying to peer into the vent, but he could see nothing but darkness. Strangely, though, he could hear a low, throbbing sound, like distant voices crying out.

"What _is_ that?"

Jacques smiled. "Here, hold your hand over the vent." Edward obliged, and he could feel cool air rushing past his hand. "This vent is a shaft that leads down into a network of caves. Differences in air pressure cause the breeze, and the sound is created by the wind rushing through the narrow passageways. The interesting thing is, depending on the outside air temperature, the air can be either blown out or sucked into the ground. The ancient people who lived here believed that it was the earth breathing."

"Hey, that's pretty cool!" Edward stuck his face over the opening, letting the cool air wash over his features. It smelled of damp stone and minerals, and ancient unchanging stillness.

They scrambled down from the rocks and ambled back to camp, Jacques telling him more about the history of the site. They reached one of the larger tents, the only one that had its canvas walls rolled down. Edward ducked through the door after his host, and straightened to see a squat, waist-high column occupying the middle of the tent, surrounded by campaign tables covered in research materials and equipment. It was carved out of a single block of marble, an irregular octagon that looked like a square with its corners cut off. Another researcher was bent over the artifact, sketching in a notebook.

Edward stepped closer to the column; it was almost the right height and width to be a table, except that its top surface was covered with an elaborate transmutation array. Ed's first thought was that Jacques was right, it _was_ like nothing he'd ever seen. At a glance he recognized most of the symbols, but the arcs, angles, and connecting lines held a geometry that was foreign to him.

Ed swept his hand a bare millimeter above the array, careful not to touch it. He squatted down a little until he could look at the stone slab almost edge-on, the better to study the precise lines etched into the surface of the monolith. "And nothing you've done has been able to activate it?" He questioned, eyes not leaving the circle.

The unfamiliar scientist answered, "No, sir. Once the archaeologists who were excavating realized what it was, they were careful not to handle it unduly. We've only tried a couple of very cautious attempts, and that's only because Dr. Jacques believed that its purpose was fairly harmless." The researcher paused, watching Edward with a hopeful gaze. He had done well to hide his initial surprise over the young man's age, and so far seemed cautiously optimistic that the renowned Fullmetal Alchemist would have some new insight.

"What is this writing? I don't recognize it." Ed gestured at several lines of script that marched along the sides of the squat stone column.

"It's ancient Xerxian. It's from one of their religious elegies; you can find similar writings all over their ruins." Jacques explained.

Edward nodded abstractedly. "I think you may be right about it being harmless, though I'm not quite sure what it's supposed to do." He pointed a steel finger at a trio of symbol s on the innermost ring of the array, "This would indicate time, and in conjunction with these two possibly the flow of time?" He gestured to another sigil. "This represents knowledge, and its position on the arc suggests bestowing wisdom, rather than acquiring it…" He hummed to himself a moment, lost in thought.

The researcher, somewhat bashfully, pointed out an observation of his own. "I thought that this was rather unusual." He pointed to a series of alchemic symbols incised between the inner and outermost rings of the array.

Edward nodded. "You're right. It's strange, this array has a lot of theoretical and philosophical symbology, but nothing that seems to tie into a physical transmutation. Those are the only elemental symbols on the whole thing." He studied the marks, muttering to himself as he listed them, "Iron, hydrogen and oxygen bonded together, various salts…" He leaned forward intently for a moment, then rocked back on his heels and laughed. "Where have you seen this combination before?"

Jacques frowned in puzzlement. "It does look familiar, but I can't place it. I don't think I've ever worked with those particular elements before."

Edward's mouth twisted in a wry grin at some private joke. "Probably good that you haven't. It sounds like blood to me."

The researcher jumped a little in surprise, then began rummaging through the papers on a nearby workbench. "Look at this. One of our linguists translated the elegy that's on the slab." He thrust a sheet at Edward. His eyes ran over the page:

_Blood of my blood_

_I call unto thee_

_Wake and rise_

_The dawn is come_

_And night is gone away_

_Shout with gladness_

_And prepare the way _

He shook his head in annoyance. "It's very pretty, but what does it mean?"

The researcher shrugged, "I've seen similar ones many times, but never this exact one. We believe them to be calls to prayer; they've been found carved into the lintels of temples and other places of worship." Jacques nodded in agreement.

Edward mused on it a moment. "Whatever it is, it seems pretty joyful, nothing dark. I'm not seeing anything in this array that would indicate danger. I also think that you're right about the blood connection between the two."

"But how does that help us activate it? Do we need to put blood on it?" Jacques frowned at the implications.

Ed shrugged. "Maybe. Like I said, I've never seen an array quite like this before. It's very likely that Xerxian alchemy was practiced differently than our modern-day kind. Hell, alchemy isn't even the same between here and Xing." His mind strayed for a moment to the one person he knew who could absolutely answer any and all questions about Xerxian alchemy, but instantly dismissed the thought with an internal sneer.

Jacques nodded, his face scrunched up in an expression of indecision. Suddenly, he pulled a small penknife from his pocket, flipped it open, and ran the blade across his index finger. Ed and the other scientist took a few prudent steps back, but watched intently as the man swiped his bloody finger across the array before placing his hands on the edge of the circle. They both held their breath in anticipation for a moment, but when nothing happened beyond the blood beading up on the stone, they let out a sigh.

"Well, so much for that theory. Let me borrow your notes for the evening and I'll look them over, see if there's anything that got missed." The researcher nodded eagerly, and Ed left a few minutes later with a thick file of papers.

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Later that evening, Ed sat alone in his tent going over the research notes. He had spent several hours meticulously cataloguing everything he knew about every aspect of the array, with no results. The papers had quickly exceeded the carrying capacity of his desk, and the floor was covered. He hunched in the middle of it all, his eyes flickering between the information in front of him and his own personal notebook as he jotted down theories and ideas.

Though he missed Al, and felt as though he had an aching emptiness in the place where his brother should be, he had to admit that his new research was fascinating. They had spent so long relentlessly pursuing the Philosopher's Stone, and then trying to defeat the homunculi, that this new approach was amazingly liberating. If he heard of something interesting, he could go and look into it as long as he wanted, without having that biting fear and guilt pushing him to move on. He hoped that Al was having as good a time with his own research in the West—from their weekly phone conversations, he suspected so. That reminded him: he would have to speak to Jacques tomorrow about using his field telephone to call Al.

Edward's eye snagged for a moment on the alchemical symbol for iron, a vertical arrow bisected by two parallel lines. What had that poem said? _Blood of my blood, I call unto thee. _He grew very still for a moment. Could it be that simple? What if the outer ring of the array functioned as a gatekeeper, ensuring that only approved guests were allowed into the inner circle? By all accounts the Xerxians had been an insular, xenophobic people, fierce in both their religion and their devotion to their king. Perhaps they had set safeguards against outsiders stumbling upon their jealously guarded knowledge.

There was, of course, an easy way to test out his little theory. But how to explain it to the archaeologists? He could hardly divulge his rather unique ancestry, and it was well known that all of Xerxes had been wiped out in a single cataclysmic event. Even if he made up some story about being descended from survivors, he doubted any man of science would believe that Xerxian genes had remained so undiluted through the centuries. No, perhaps it would be better to do it secretly, and make up some cover story later on to explain why the array had activated. He would wait a few hours until he was certain everyone else was asleep, then go and conduct some research of his own.

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He ghosted through the darkened camp, skirting the sleeping tents, grateful that the research portion of camp was on the opposite side. It made it less likely that any insomniacs or latrine-bound archaeologists would stumble upon Ed's little experiment. He ducked under the canvas door flap of his target, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust. The moon was full tonight, and shone brightly in the clear desert air, enough so that from the inside the tent walls seemed to glow.

Ed stood before the stone, hesitating; half of him certain it would succeed, the other half sure that the universe could not be wrapped up so neatly. What were the odds that one of the three living people who could make this work would happen to stumble into the right tent at the right time? If Professor Hawkins hadn't decided to go on vacation, if he hadn't happened to mention his friend's discovery to Ed—hell, even if Ed had decided to take a break for the long weekend instead of haring out into the middle of nowhere—the array might have forever remained a mystery. If he even _could_ make this work—perhaps his half-blood would not be strong enough to trigger the mechanism.

He huffed out a breath, suddenly amused at his own uncharacteristic indecision. There was only one way to find out, and standing here arguing with himself wasn't going to achieve anything. He pulled out a thin blade (formerly a tin mug, transmuted for his purpose) and ran it across his palm, careful to cup his hand to collect the blood. He swiped it in a broad swath across the center of the array, then planted both hands flat on the surface of the stone.

Nothing happened. Edward sighed, grimacing in annoyance. _So much for that theory_, he thought. Just as he began to pull his hands from the array, he noticed something odd. The lines incised into the stone seemed paler than the surrounding surface; when he glanced away, they left squiggly afterimages in his eyes. He placed his hands more firmly on the array, staring intently at the pattern of the circle.

It _was_ beginning to glow—a steady, pale blue light that edged outward from his hands until the entire transmutation circle shone. It built slowly at first, entirely unlike the electric crackle he was used to in his own alchemy. It started out at a crawl, but like train engine building up steam, it began to grow in speed and intensity. Edward felt a pressure in the back of his skull, and the air felt thick and heavy. He was pinned in place now, unable to move, unable to stop the alchemic reaction. The light was almost blinding now, and the feeling of a powerful and other-worldly presence was stifling. His last thought before blazing light wiped everything away was, _Well, that was a fucking terrible idea…._

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_Author's note: The cliff dwellings and the cave with the wind are based on two actual locations in the high chaparral of Arizona. Again, if you're interested in betaing, please let me know._


	2. Chapter 2 Bandits

_Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I had several reviewers comment that they were a bit confused by a few details; as I mentioned last chapter, certain events surrounding the Promised Day have been altered. I can't go into it right now, since those changes are major plot points down the road, but I can let you know a few: 1) Ed and Al swapped which direction they went for research, so Ed headed East while Al went West; 2) Ed still has all his automail limbs; 3) The sacrifice which brought Al back from the Gate was made by someone else, which will be revealed later. _

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Chapter 2:

Bandits

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He awoke several hours later, curled into a ball on the dirt floor of the tent. His back and legs were stiff from sleeping on the cold ground, and his head felt stuffed with cotton wool. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and longer still to remember _why_ he was there. Suddenly urgent, he dragged himself to his feet to look at the transmutation array.

Nothing had changed; the tent looked the same, the monolith looked the same—it wasn't even glowing. The only difference he could see was the dull smear of blood he had left on its surface, dried now into red dust. He cautiously placed the palms of his hands on the edge of the circle, but there was no reaction. He sighed in frustration, _What was that? _

A sudden chatter of voices, combined with the brightness of the tent, made him realize that morning was beginning to break. He'd better get back to his own tent, or else he'd have some awkward explanations to come up with. After rubbing the dried blood off the array, he stuck his head out of the tent, looking cautiously around. There was no one on this side of the camp, and he took a circuitous route back towards his sleeping tent, detouring to the latrine on the way.

After he'd changed out of his rumpled, dusty clothes and splashed water on his face, Edward decided to hunt down some breakfast. It was still very early, but the clatter of pans and voices led him to the mess tent. He snagged a plate and a cup of coffee, and settled down to eat. Breakfast today was warm flatbread, served with chickpea paste and the fragrant spiced meat that was a regional specialty. The lean meat kept well in the heat, and the spices preserved it further; it had become one of Ed's favorite foods in the time he had spent with Professor Hawkins.

Jacques spied him, and dropped his own plate and mug across from Edward. The wiry archaeologist was cheerful this morning, and they chatted pleasantly about mutual acquaintances, how the dig was going, and whether they thought Xing was ever going to ratify the non-aggression treaty.

As they settled back, each with a second cup of coffee, Ed remembered his thought from the day before. "Hey, Jacques, do you have a field telephone I could use today?"

The researcher nodded. "Yes, but the signal's pretty terrible." He wrinkled his brow in confusion, "Aren't you leaving the day after tomorrow? Is it really that urgent?"

The teenager laughed, a little embarrassed to explain. "No, I just promised someone that I would call them once a week, and I hate to disappoint."

Jacques' face took on a knowing grin, "Oh, a young lady, is it?"

Ed laughed, "Sorry to break it to you, but it's just my younger brother. He's gone West to study new kinds of alchemy, just like I've come out East."

His breakfast companion shrugged, "Eh, I like my explanation better." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You and me both, friend."

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Jacques had taken him to see the cliff dwellings close up; Ed had to admit that they were much more comfortable and spacious than they appeared from the outside, with a rather clever system of ladders and ventilation shafts as well. They were picking their way down the talus slope at the foot of the cliff, Jacques regaling him with the cheesiest archaeological jokes he knew.

"…and so the grad student turns to the professor, and says 'But sir, the best thing about pot shards is that if you break one, then you have _two_ pot shards!'"

Ed had to admit, Jacques' jokes were so bad that they came right out the other side and somehow ended up being funny, in a painfully geeky sort of way. "Did you hear the one about the alchemist and the pig farmer? This farmer goes into town to…" Ed cut himself off, realizing that his companion had stopped walking several paces ago. He looked back at Jacques in curiosity, "What is it?"

The man pointed across the valley to the north. "There, do you see that?"

Ed swung his head around to follow Jacques' finger. "See what?"

"That dust cloud on the horizon."

Fullmetal squinted against the afternoon glare; now that he knew what to look for, he _could_ see it: a pale plume rising against the sun-bleached sky. "What it is? A dust storm?"

Jacques shook his head. "No, a storm would be wider. That looks like vehicles, or horsemen, moving at a fast clip. To put up that much dust they'd have to be on a road."

"What road's in that direction?"

"The only one I can think of is the old caravan trail. It actually passes within a mile of here before veering east." He put up a hand to shade his eyes, still watching the dust cloud. "Is it just me, or does it look like it's getting closer?"

Ed nodded, a sudden, uneasy feeling tugging at him. "Who'd be coming from that direction?"

"That's the thing, there's nothing really north of here. That area's been suffering a severe drought for the last eighty years, and the few towns that were there have long since dried up. The only people I know of would be…"

Ed's eyes widened in sudden realization, and he finished what Jacques left unspoken, "Bandits." He bolted for the camp, the doctor on his heels. They skidded down the last of the slope, rocks bouncing around them. As soon as he got within earshot of the camp, Edward began yelling for people to run. Jacques went one direction, and he went the other, each trying to warn as many people as possible. It was like kicking a hornet's nest, and the field workers (depending upon their personality) alternately began running around arming themselves, grabbing what research they could, or trying to find a place to hide. Ed knew that the scientists would be outmatched by even a small raiding party, and he began shoving everyone he came across towards the edge of camp with forceful instructions to run. Unfortunately, there was very little cover beyond low-growing scrub and the gullies and washes that made up the landscape.

Either the raiders were closer than he had believed, or their horses were uncommonly fast, for he was still chivvying the last of the hysterical graduate students out of camp when the first horseman swept in. Edward turned his back on the students, placing himself between them and the bandits in the hope of gaining them time to escape. He clapped his hands, intending to turn his automail into the usual blade.

His transmutation failed. There was the familiar blue crackle of light, but it was almost immediately snuffed out. No time, though, to figure out what had happened; he would just have to use his fists. He dodged around the horseman, using his superior maneuverability to duck and weave around the bandit, who sawed at his horse's reins in an attempt to follow. The thunder of hooves told Ed that he had more company, and he realized that his window of opportunity was rapidly disappearing. He feinted towards the horse, which reared back, almost unseating its rider. Edward seized the moment and ran past, making for the open desert.

He was seconds too late, however, and three more horsemen closed in around him. He circled liked a boxer in a ring, looking for any opening. For the first time, he got a good look at the raiders: dark hair and eyes marked them as being of Eastern descent, and though their clothes were ragged and motley, their weapons looked to be well-made. Their horses, too, seemed to be of a higher quality than a bandit's had any right to be. _Well, maybe they stole them_—was Ed's last thought before a sudden movement to his right, and a sharp, unexpected pain in his head left darkness blooming across his vision. For the second time in as many days, the Fullmetal Alchemist sprawled senseless on the desert floor.

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Edward's first thought upon waking was that he had broken his skull open. He couldn't think of any other reason for it to hurt as much as it did. His second thought was that he had better roll over if he didn't want to puke all over himself. This was easier said than done; he was lying on his arms, which were tightly bound behind his back. His automail was digging painfully into his spine, and his flesh arm was numb below the shoulder. He managed to rock onto his left side, taking deep, slow breaths to calm his stomach. He stifled a whimper as the blood began to flow back into his arm with vicious pins and needles.

He gazed around blearily, disoriented from the blow to his head. He was still in the camp, or at least what remained of it. Everything was in disarray, and it looked as though every paper in the place had been dumped on the ground. The cooking tent had managed to catch fire, and nothing but smoldering embers remained. Edward realized that he must have been out of it for longer than he thought if the fire had already burnt itself out.

As he came to his senses, he tried to look around more covertly, hoping to fool his captors into thinking he was still unconscious. He couldn't see any of the researchers around, only a couple of bandits picking through someone's duffel bag. There was smoke in the air, perhaps from a fire he couldn't see, and he could hear, distantly, the sound of someone screaming. It sent a knife of rage and grief through him, and he thought of all the friendly, curious people he had met over the last two days. He hoped, desperately, that the rest of them had managed to make it safely into the desert.

Someone must have noticed him looking around, for he heard the crunch of footsteps coming up behind him, and then a booted foot rolled him over onto his back once more. The glaring sunlight sent a stab of pain through his sensitive eyes, and he squinted up at the silhouetted form above him. He decided that a bit of bluffing was in order. "Please, don't hurt me. I'm just a scientist, I'm just out here to do some research. Whatever you want, you can take."

The man's head moved, blocking out the sun, and Ed could now see the cold calculation in his eyes. "We both know that you're not just a scientist." He pulled something from a pocket; Ed realized with a sinking feeling that it was his research notebook. "You're an alchemist." The man's eyes glittered with avarice.

Ed dropped the bluff. "So?"

His captor smiled unpleasantly. "You're worth quite a lot in the right hands." Ed lunged suddenly, or tried to, anyway. The attempt to headbutt the raider fell woefully short, and the man kicked him in the ribs for his trouble, then planted a foot solidly in the middle of Edward's chest to pin him down. He called over his shoulder, "Ghet! Dose this one. I don't want to have to damage him too much before we sell him." A bandit with all the good looks of a bulldog lumbered over and forced a wineskin into Ed's mouth. He poured something that tasted like a combination of grain alcohol and herbs down the alchemist's throat, covering his mouth and nose until he swallowed.

In burned like fire, and when he was released he began coughing up a lung. He finally regained his breath, but by this time the world swung dizzily around him. Colors seemed to smear, and the bandits' voices echoed hollowly in his ears. Everything after that was a confusing blur of motion and pain.

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The man strode purposefully through Eastern Headquarters, blond ponytail swinging in time to his steps. He paused only briefly to consult a note scribbled on a scrap of paper before knocking firmly on a certain door.

Fifteen minutes later Sergeant Kain Fuery stumbled through that same door, awkwardly attempting to unclip Black Hayate's leash while simultaneously shaking rain from his overcoat. He paused, realizing there was something amiss in the atmosphere of the office. A tall, broad-shouldered, and spectacled blond man stood patiently in the center of the room, a battered leather suitcase at his feet. Around him, the usual work of the office continued, albeit with frequent covert looks from the various soldiers scattered about the room. Fuery slid into his desk and leaned over to Havoc, who had a crumpled and unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Who's that?" he whispered.

Havoc shrugged, not taking his eyes off the stranger, "Beats me. Says he needs to talk to the Boss 'bout something. Damned if he doesn't look familiar, though." Fuery, now able to see the man's profile, couldn't help but agree.

Mustang's office door opened with a muffled click, and Hawkeye emerged, her expression betraying no surprise at the stranger in their midst. "Can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Colonel Roy Mustang." The man's voice was a deep rumble in his chest, his words spoken with the precise care of an intellectual.

"It's Brigadier General Mustang, now. What is this regarding?" Half of Hawkeye's duty was to screen the surprisingly large number of people who wanted to meet with Mustang. Usually they were there for sound, professional reasons, but he had had his fair share of unstable visitors over the years.

"It's about the Elric brothers." At this, every eye in the room abandoned pretense and instead stared at him full-on.

Hawkeye managed to remain impassive. "Just a moment." She returned to Mustang's office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Roy looked up in surprise, "Did I forget to sign something?"

Hawkeye shook her head, "No, sir. There's a man outside who says he's here to talk to you about the Elrics."

Mustang's eyes sharpened. "Do you know who he is?"

"No, he didn't give a name." Her brow wrinkled in a rare show of puzzlement. "I do feel like I've seen him before, though."

"Show him in, but make sure you stay in the room with me." Roy hurriedly cleared a couple of classified files from his desk.

"Of course, sir." Hawkeye made a crisp about-face and strode to the door. Easing it open, she nodded to the stranger. "You may come in."

Roy stood at his desk, hand outstretched. "I'm General Mustang. You are?"

The stranger shook Mustang's hand in a single, firm grip. "My name is Hohenheim."

_Hohenheim_. That name struck a chord somewhere in Mustang's memory, but for the life of him he couldn't recall why. "May I ask what your interest in the Elric brothers is?"

The man tilted his head slightly, and the reflected glare slid off the lenses of his glasses, revealing the molten gold of his eyes. Roy had only ever met one other person with eyes like that—

"They are my sons."

Now that Mustang knew it, the resemblance was unmistakable. The man in front of him was the exact image of Edward, or at least of how Edward would look in twenty or thirty years' time. The sharp golden eyes, the determined mouth, the white-blond hair—even the straight and unrelenting set of their shoulders were the same. They had met in passing during the events of the Promised Day, but Mustang had been so preoccupied with other things that the details of the Elrics' father had slipped his mind.

Roy gestured Hohenheim to a seat, anticipating a long (and, he suspected, interesting) conversation. Hawkeye stood at ease beside the door, silent and ever watchful.

Hohenheim leaned forward in his seat, his voice almost regretful, "I will come straight to the point. Have you heard anything from Edward?"

Roy's eyes narrowed the briefest amount; he knew that Ed's relationship with his father was strained to say the least, but it seemed strange that Hohenheim would feel driven to ask the military for information about his own child. What was going on here?

Roy shook his head. "Not for several weeks." He looked over his guest's shoulder at Hawkeye; she shrugged in confirmation. "You understand, Fullmetal's no longer active military. We keep him on retainer for emergencies," _and to keep tabs on the emergencies he creates_, Roy added silently, "but he's not required to make regular reports. If he comes across something he thinks we need to know about, he'll contact us, but nothing beyond that."

Hohenheim settled back in his chair, his grave face striking a sudden stab of worry in Mustang's stomach. Roy's voice sharpened, "Why? Is there something going on with Fullmetal? Or is it Alphonse?"

Edward's father shook his head in negation. "Alphonse is fine, though he is the cause of my visit. We keep in regular contact, and when I called him yesterday he begged me to come down in person to speak with you. It seems that he and Edward have kept to a rather strict schedule of phone calls, only Ed is five days overdue."

Mustang shrugged. "Fullmetal's not known for his punctuality. He probably got distracted by something shiny and forgot what day it was."

"That's what I told Alphonse," He shook his head, "but apparently this is the first time in six months that Ed has been more than a few hours late in calling. Al tried to contact the people that Ed was staying with, but the operators say that the calls won't go through."

Roy pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from his desk, and slid it across to Hohenheim. "Write down everything you know about where Fullmetal's been staying, who he was last in contact with, and any other places he might have mentioned going. I'll make a few inquiries, see if we can find out what's going on. Most likely there's just something interfering with the phone lines, but it's worth looking into."

Hohenheim nodded gratefully, jotting down what he knew of his son's whereabouts. "I promised Al I would call him back this evening to let him know what you said. I'll see if he can give me any more details to add to this." He handed the paper back to Roy.

"Thanks for stopping by. Leave your contact information with my Lieutenant and I'll let you know what we find out." He stood, leaning across the desk to shake his guest's hand. Hawkeye escorted the blond man out, returning a few minutes later to find Roy scrutinizing a map.

"Sir."

"I know." He glanced up at her, his dark eyes hiding whatever emotion he was feeling. "I don't think those rumors were just rumors. They really have captured an Amestrian alchemist." Roy flattened his fist against the map, muttering to himself, "Damn it, Fullmetal. How do you get yourself into these situations?"

Hawkeye watched him silently for a moment. "Should I brief the men?"

Roy shook his head. "No, I'll do it. For now, tell them they've got half an hour to finish up any vital paperwork they've been putting off." He swept his hand across the map, "We have some travelling to do."

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_Author's note: I'm still looking for a beta reader. Please let me know if you're interested._


	3. Chapter 3 Secrets

_Author's note: This one's a bit shorter due to me trying to break the story up at logical places. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed!_

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Chapter 3

Secrets

Afterwards, Edward was hard pressed to say whether he was with the bandits for a single day, or longer. They kept him drunk on their nasty concoction, which left him sleepy and confused. The best that could be said for it was that it eased the pain in his head somewhat. He was slung over the back of someone's horse for part of the trip, and at some later point (which he could never recall) he was transferred into the back of a truck.

The whole journey was a confusing, nauseous blur; it was broken by brief periods of lucidity, cut short by another liberal application of their strange liquor. He had the dim thought that he was going to have one hell of a headache whenever they stopped doping him up.

It was during one of his more lucid periods that he realized they must be in a city. He could hear other vehicles, and the voices of many people jostling together. The ride seemed smoother, too, as though the truck were on a paved road. He tried to struggle, to call out for help, but he was gagged and tightly bound.

The sound of the truck changed, then; he could hear the engine echoing hollowly, before it was abruptly cut off. There was the sound of a wooden gate closing, and the noise from the street became muffled. The canvas covering of the truck was thrown back, and sunlight pierced Edward's eyes like a knife. He cringed against the pain, his head aching.

"Here he is. We kept him in good shape for you." It was the voice of the chief bandit.

"This boy? You must be kidding." This new voice was cracked with age, and made sharp with disbelief.

"No joke. Here, this was on him." Edward heard rustling paper, probably the sound of someone looking through his research journal.

"This does look promising… Perhaps it belongs to someone else at the camp?"

"Nah. We caught one of the others, and they said the head guy had invited the kid as a consultant."

"Interesting." There was the sound of movement, and the blinding sunlight disappeared for a moment. Ed cracked open his eyes to see a thin old man peering at him over the edge of the truckbed. "Automail, too…" The man's eyes suddenly widened in recognition, which was quickly hidden by an expression of cunning. "Since he's so young, he's probably inexperienced. I can give you half the normal rate."

The bandit growled in anger. "The hell you will. He can't be that inexperienced if they had him out doing consultations."

The old man shook his head condescendingly, "No senior alchemist would bother traveling so far into the desert; they'd send their apprentice to collect information for them. He might be useful for getting information on his master, but not as valuable as if he were a skilled alchemist."

"Fine, I'll give you a ten percent discount." The bandit sounded disgusted.

"Twenty-five."

"Deal." The old man called out a flurry of instructions, and Ed was hauled out of the truck by strong hands. He tried to stand, as prelude to trying to escape, but his legs were like wet rags. He would've collapsed if not for the guards' strong grip on either arm. He looked around, desperately trying to get an idea of where he was, and how he could free himself. He was in a courtyard, bounded by high sandstone walls on three sides and a building on the fourth. The walls were thick, and a tunnel with a wooden gate on one end cut through the fortification behind him; that must've been the entrance the truck had used.

The guards dragged him towards the building, passing through a series of arches and tunnels until they entered a smaller courtyard. This courtyard was two stories high, edged with a gallery over a covered walkway. Rather ominously, in the center of the courtyard was a heavy wooden chair, fitted with leather straps. It was to this that the guards carried him, holding him down and binding him hand and foot. He threw himself against the straps, desperately trying to break free, cursing and swearing all the while.

A third guard appeared, carrying a leather bottle full of some liquid. They forced the solution down his throat, prying his jaw open and pinching his nose shut so he was forced to swallow. Bound as he was, his struggles were useless. The guards backed off into the shadows beneath the gallery, leaving the Fullmetal Alchemist sagging against the ropes, his fury giving way somewhat to exhaustion. His wrath was unabated, however, and he shot a venomous glare around the courtyard, frustrated that the blinding sunlight hid his captors from him.

Slowly, however, the tension left his shoulders, and his eyes grew less focused, less fierce. He began to stare vacantly around himself, as though only half awake. A man emerged from the shadows, walking at a sedate pace until he faced the alchemist. "Hello." No response. The man squatted a little to catch Edward's eye, careful not to touch the prisoner. His voice was gentle and friendly, "Hello."

Fullmetal's head lolled to the side as he slid his gaze up to the man's face, blinking owlishly. "Hello." He repeated slowly, as though tasting the word.

"My name is Micah, what's yours?" Again, the voice was gentle, questioning but not pressuring.

There was a pause, as though he needed to think for a moment. "Ed."

"Just 'Ed'? Tell me your whole name."

"Edward Elric." He stopped, something dark flickering briefly behind his drug-dulled eyes. "Fullmetal Alchemist." At this Micah shot a look of repressed victory at the darkness beyond Ed's left shoulder.

"That's good, Ed. We're just going to talk a little, there's nothing to worry about." He spoke with a practiced patter, used to the methods required of the drug. Nothing too harsh at first, nothing to bring up the subject's defenses, just little questions to get the boy into the rhythm of confession.

"How old are you, Ed?"

"Ei-," the boy shook his head, dully trying to resist, failing. "Eighteen."

"And what country are you from?"

"From 'mestris." He stumbled on the word, tried again. "Amestris."

"Tell me about your mother; what's her name?"

"Trisha Elric."

"And where does she live?"

"Risembool, but not anymore… She's dead now. Dead and gone… never coming back…" The boy's mind was caught on some memory, and Micah quickly steered him into the next question.

"What's your father's name?"

"Hohenheim… Van Hohenheim… bastard father…" There was no anger in his voice, but rather the cadence of repetition, as though he had said those same words many times before.

"And where is your father from?" Micah was reaching the end of the scripted questions, and knew from experience that Fullmetal's last resistance was failing.

"Xerxes." The word slipped out quietly, an unexpected answer to an unimportant question.

Micah frowned, then carefully schooled his face into a pleasant mask, unwilling to upset the balance of his interrogation. "Xerxes, the ruined city?"

Ed's head flopped in an exaggerated nod, the drugs loosening his muscles. "Xerxes, yes. City of death, drowned in the desert…" his voice drifted off, lost on some internal tangent. Micah thought quickly over the possibilities, trying to choose the best course of action. It was possible that the boy had been trained to resist interrogations, or maybe he was having a negative reaction to the drug. More likely, however, was that someone had fooled the child into believing a lie—the drugs only brought out what the subject perceived to be true, whether it was fact or not.

"Ed." The alchemist's eyes slowly refocused. "How is that possible? No one has lived in Xerxes for hundreds of years."

There was an unexpected struggle behind Edward's eyes, and Micah realized that he was trying desperately to hide something. The interrogator pressed again, deliberately smoothing his voice. "Ed, tell me. How is it possible?" His honeyed tone slipped past Ed's defenses.

"He's a slave… was a slave. In ancient Xerxes…" Ed sighed on the last word, a gentle sibilance that crawled down Micah's spine with a sense of urgent portent.

He leaned forward, staring sharply into golden eyes, repeating his demand, "How?"

"Immortality. Endless life through death, world without end…"Ed trailed off, but a gentle susurration rustled though the courtyard, and Micah knew the others were unable to contain their whispers.

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It had been days now, but Edward still fought with everything he had, desperately trying to resist their questions. He tried to go off on tangents, or focus on unimportant information, but the drugs made it so hard. It seemed as though every thought drifted straight from his brain through his mouth. It reminded him of that old game, where somebody would say, _Whatever you do, don't think of an elephant_. Of course it was impossible _not_ to immediately think of an elephant.

Fullmetal thought that he was having some luck, however. Whenever they would ask him to discuss his research notes, he would think of the most technically obtuse information he could. He spent half an hour reciting the basic theory of decomposition before they gave up in disgust and tried a different question.

He received proof that his tactics were working on the third evening of his imprisonment. He sagged against the chains in his cell, half-stupified from the cocktail of drugs they were feeding him; the cage door opened, blinding him with torchlight from the hall. Though he squinted against the glare, he could only see the blurry silhouettes of the guards as they spoke to a third man.

"He's resisting too much. Soften him up a bit, but don't kill him. We need him pliable, not dead." The man's voice was cultured, well-educated, and bored. Ed instantly hated him.

As the door swung closed, blocking out the torchlight, he could finally see the guards as they came towards him. He struggled against the chains, against the drugs, against their overbearing strength; it was all useless. They dragged him off, his hoarse voice slurring curses at them all the way.

It was a long night, and full of pain.

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_Author's note: Anyone want to beta? Please? I have 28 more pages so far, and I'm probably making major mistakes…_


	4. Chapter 4 Despair

_Author's note: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed this week!_

_Update: It's just been brought to my attention that none of my page breaks show up when I post. In related news, if anyone has any advice on inserting page breaks or section markers, please mention it in the comments._

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Chapter 4

Despair

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"Sir, you shouldn't be the one to go." Hawkeye's voice was flat, her worry suppressed beneath her mask of professionalism.

"And who else should go, then? Breda? Falman? None of you would make it five feet into the compound before getting caught. At least I look like I belong." Roy brushed aside her concerns, though he knew how deeply she disliked it when he went somewhere she could not follow. She had an almost pathological need to watch his back.

"We could find some other way. What good will it do us if you get caught? Do you want to give them another valuable hostage?" Hawkeye voiced her protests, though she knew that there was little chance of swaying him now. The most she could do was to try to point Mustang on a course that would minimize risk wherever possible.

"He's been in their hands for almost a week. Do you really want to leave him at their mercy any longer than necessary?" Roy demanded, knowing that Riza had a soft spot for the young alchemist.

"No, sir, you know I don't." There was both reproach and resignation in her voice now, and Mustang knew he had won the argument. He bent back to the map spread across the table, comparing a rough, woefully guess-work sketch of the compound to a map of the city. This was one time when his Xingese ancestry would come in handy. His dark looks, while exotic in Amestris, were almost run-of-the-mill here. There were enough merchants and immigrants of Eastern descent in this city that Mustang would look like one among thousands.

Edward, on the other hand, was a different matter. They would have to be extremely careful about getting him out of the city. His automail would be a dead giveaway to anyone searching for him, and his pale hair and striking eyes made him stand out no matter what country he was in.

This far East, Mustang's information network ran very thin. He had called in a lot of favors, and a lot of bribes, to get what knowledge they had. They knew that a group of supposed scholars and intellectuals had purchased a moderately-sized compound in the oldest part of the city. These men, funded by a cadre of mostly anonymous nobles and wealthy merchants, were very tight-lipped. Their servants could not be bribed, and they had a reputation for disposing of any who displeased or threatened them. They had a second, lesser-known reputation: they would pay handsomely for knowledge, whether it came in the form of books, artifacts, or people. More than one alchemist had been rumored to have entered the city, never to be seen again. Whether they had been imprisoned, enslaved, or killed, no one seemed to know.

Nor did anyone seem to care. In this city-state built on wealth and power, and run by a corrupt government, justice relied more heavily on influence than on truth. The missing alchemists had been foreigners, and relatively poor ones at that; they had disappeared into thin air, with only unsubstantiated rumors to mark their passage.

Roy was lucky to have gotten hold of an old man who had worked in the compound years ago, before the current occupants had taken it over. It was thanks to that man that they had a layout of the buildings, though it was possibly decades out of date. Mustang was banking on the new owners reusing existing rooms, rather than renovating. The grounds had had a rather well-fortified set of holding cells, placed underground and equipped with fetters and bars. His bet was that Ed, as a dangerous and no doubt belligerent prisoner, would be held there.

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The guards dragged Edward back to his cell, pinned his arms against the walls, and locked the cuffs. They knew that an alchemist's greatest weapon was his ability to transmute, and so they kept his arms constantly chained apart. When they fed him, they would only ever unlock one hand, and a guard would keep sharp watch over him the whole time. Not that he ate much; the constant drugs left him with no appetite, and what little he did eat roiled in his stomach.

He sagged against the chains, too exhausted from pain to even lift his head. His automail leg twitched and spasmed, a reaction to the torture. He hoped dimly that the port wasn't permanently damaged. This was the second day in a row that his captors had combined torture and questioning, having been pleased with the results. Ed wondered how long it had been since he'd been captured—a week? Longer? At first he had plotted and planned ways to escape, though most of his discarded schemes involved the alchemy which seemed to have deserted him.

That was another worry, one he longed to investigate further. He had had a chance to transmute, once when the bandits who had kidnapped him had carelessly believed him to be unconscious; again, nothing had happened. The part of his brain that wasn't consumed with pain or devising ways to escape worried over the problem like a dog over a bone. His strongest theory, of course, revolved around the mysterious transmutation array. Perhaps it had not just knocked him unconscious when he activated it; what if it had taken something, or damaged him in some way?

All of his thoughts, schemes and worries alike, were dulled and slowed by the drugs. It was hard to focus on details, and he thought that he was losing time. He would find himself staring blankly at the floor, and realize that he couldn't remember what he had been doing or thinking. Edward felt that if he could just think clearly, he could escape.

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Mustang casually strolled down the street, his lazy manner covering his sharp-eyed reconnaissance. They had finally had a stroke of luck; the compound's western wall fronted a narrow street, which led into a busy market. At night the stalls were empty and deserted, but right now the busy morning traffic neatly covered up his loitering. Some of the smaller, poorer tradesmen, unable to afford a space in the market proper, had even spilled out into the street adjoining his target. He was able to get a good look at the area without attracting any suspicion.

As far as he could tell, the walls were built in an old-fashioned style; very thick at the base, tapering towards the top. Broken glass and jagged metal were set in mortar on the top of the wall to discourage anyone from trying to scale it. Mustang grinned to himself; he had no intention of trying to climb it. He walked around for a few more minutes, before ambling away from the market. No one noticed him, not even in passing. He circled around the block, then climbed into a truck parked several hundred yards down the street from the compound's main entrance. Hawkeye sat in the driver's seat, a sniper's scope pressed to one eye.

"Let's go. We need to leave before they close the gates." The city recorded every vehicle that entered and left, and they wanted a clear record showing that they had departed before sunset. "What did you see?"

Hawkeye shifted into a lower gear as they approached the more crowded streets near the gate. "Not a lot of people coming or going for most of the day. Mostly servants, and then for an hour or two before dinner time a lot of wealthier-looking men. They went in different directions, and didn't return."

"Going home for the night?" Mustang raised an eyebrow.

Hawkeye nodded. "That would be my guess, sir."

Roy settled back in his seat. "Good, that means there will be fewer people in there tonight."

The truck slowed to a stop at one of the checkpoints, and Hawkeye leaned out of the cab window to sign the logbook a bored-looking city guard held up to her. A few minutes later, and they were motoring along the road that ran parallel to the city walls. On this side of the city lay the slums, and further out, the farms, that could not fit within the confines of the walls. If you continued following the perimeter of the city, the dwellings tapered off, until there was nothing but desert. Here, though, the river ran with enough water to support agriculture, and even those too poor to afford wells could draw from the open water.

"Drop me off here." Mustang sat up straighter in his seat, ready to get out.

Hawkeye stopped him with a hand on his arm, "Sir, don't do anything stupid."

Roy grinned at her concern. "I'll be fine. You know me."

"That's the problem, sir."

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Edward slumped in his chains, the bonds pulling his shoulders back painfully, but unable to gather the strength in his legs to stand and relieve the pressure. He couldn't decide what he wanted more, clean water or the chance to stretch out flat and sleep. While thirst and nausea clawed his throat, the desire for rest was almost overwhelming. Even if he could have slept while hanging from his chains, the guards had added sleep deprivation to the list of tortures they were inflicting on him. At all hours of the day and night they would randomly strike the bars of his cage, rattling the door and calling out threats. Every time, his body would tense with a rush of fear and adrenaline, terrified that they were coming to torture him again.

His thoughts were beginning to drift often now, and he wondered in a detached way if he was losing his mind. He couldn't tell how much of his incoherence was due to physical stress, and how much was due to the constant drugs they plied him with. Ed had always prided himself on his resilience, his ability to stand up under even the most horrific circumstances, but he had to admit to himself that he had no strength now. This weakness terrified him; he had lost everything he could normally count on to save him- his intelligence, his alchemy, his iron will. He thought of Winry, of Al, somewhere out there in the bright world, and wondered if those he loved would ever know what had happened to him. The Fullmetal Alchemist hung in his chains, and despaired.

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Mustang slunk along the alleyway, keeping to the darkest parts of the already shadowy street. He counted his paces, consulting a scrap of paper with a crudely drawn map on it. Once he had found the proper place he knelt before the wall, using his coat to shield the tell-tale glow of his transmutation. A narrow staircase sunk down into the ground, ending in an arched doorway. The Flame Alchemist froze, listening carefully for sounds of an outcry. If their informants and intuition were correct, his new doorway should open into an underground storage room, part of the kitchen facilities; hopefully it would be deserted at this time of night.

After a full minute without hearing any warning sounds, Mustang descended the stairs, easing the door open carefully. As his eyes adjusted to the near-pitch darkness of the cellar, he could make out baskets of potatoes and apples lining the floor, large ceramic crocks, and other pantry equipment. Mustang eased his way carefully across the crowded floor to the door, again listening carefully for any sounds. Because this cellar (usually) had no exterior doors or windows, it was unlikely that this area would be guarded. He slowly worked the door open, careful of creaks, and scanned the narrow hallway beyond. A few doors opened off of it, most likely storage rooms like the one he had first entered, and a stair at one end led up towards the kitchens. After confirming that the coast was clear, he crossed to the end furthest from the stairs.

Here came the trickiest part. He would be transmuting into completely unknown territory, presumably filled with guards, and still unsure of Ed's location. He took a deep breath, and laid his hands against the wall.

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_Author's note: Reviews and constructive criticism are great inspiration, so to help keep me inspired I have a game: if I get 5 reviews between now and Friday, I'll post an extra chapter this week. _

_Still looking for a beta reader!_


	5. Chapter 5 Escape

_Author's note: Thank you for all of the kind and helpful reviews, particularly to the anonymous reviewer who let me know that my page breaks weren't showing up. I've gone back and corrected it, so hopefully things will be much clearer!_

_As promised, here is the extra chapter for this week._

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Chapter 5

Escape

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At first, Ed thought that he must have finally snapped. It was the only explanation for why the wall behind him seemed to be moving. His next thought was that it might be an earthquake; he couldn't remember whether this part of the world was prone to earthquakes, but the stone of the wall he was chained to was definitely trembling and making ominous rumbling sounds, as though the very earth were rearranging itself. He was trying to decide whether being buried alive in rubble would be an improvement on his current situation when the dungeon was suddenly lit with a bright blue light, abruptly cut off. As Ed blinked away a sudden blindness caused by the glare, he heard a voice muttering curses to itself. A _familiar _voice.

"Mustang?" Ed's voice was hoarse to the point of near-silence. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Mustang, is that you?" Still hoarse, but audible.

"Who else would be stupid enough to come after such an annoying subordinate?" The voice was grumpy, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of relief running through it. Ed's own body thrilled with a sense of exhilaration, believing for the first time in days that he might get out of this.

"Not your subordinate anymore."

There was a muffled clang, and another curse, and the tiniest glimmer of light. "Damn it, I'm in the wrong cell. How long until the guards come through?"

Ed tried to think, to count back to the last time he'd been harassed. "It's after midnight, right?" They were speaking in whispers, not that Ed thought he could manage anything louder than a whisper at the moment, even if he had wanted. "Early morning?"

"_Very_ early morning. Sometime after one."

Up until now Ed had felt as though his mind was a muddled soup; the sudden spike of adrenaline made him feel much sharper. "They shouldn't be back for a while, not until the dawn shift. Think they're supposed to come by every hour, but the graveyard shift is lazy." His voice was already beginning to give out.

"Good. Stay where you are, I'll come to you." It was too dark for Mustang to see Ed roll his eyes, so the young alchemist waited in his chains. From the sound of it, and what he could make out from the light of Mustang's transmutations, the older man had come through into the cell across from his. It took only a minute or two before the Colonel- _Brigadier General_, he mentally corrected himself- was standing before him, bending over to examine his bonds.

"I think they're just iron, like the bars. Some on my ankles, too." Mustang snapped his fingers, creating a small spark to get a better look at the chains. The flare of light also allowed him to get a better look at his young friend, and he frowned in concern. Fullmetal's face was pale, his cheeks hollow, his eyes over-bright and almost feverish. No time now to do anything about it, though.

Roy made short work of the chains, and made to pull Ed along towards the exit. The boy staggered, and would have slumped to the ground had Mustang not gripped his shoulders. "Are you all right? Do I need to carry you?" His voice was a mix of frustration and concern; the plan would be more difficult to execute if Ed couldn't support himself. Difficult, but not impossible.

Ed reached out blindly behind him for the wall, steadying himself. "No, just give me a second. Bit dizzy." Mustang couldn't help but notice that the normally loquacious boy was talking in short, clipped sentences, as though he didn't have the energy to speak. Fullmetal took a deep breath and straightened. "Ok, let's go."

Mustang led Edward through the passageway he had created, retracing his earlier path through the building, erasing his alchemically created doorways as he went. The signs of alchemy would still be present for those who knew what to look for, but hopefully Ed's captors would believe that the young man had escaped on his own; it would make it more difficult for them to track him down. By the time they realized the alchemist had had help, he should be well out of their reach.

They made it out of the compound without running into any guards. Mustang helped Ed lean against the wall of the alley while he himself knelt down to erase the stairway he had made. The only warning of trouble he had was a sudden scuffling sound, followed by a muffled thump; he looked up to find Ed standing over a prone figure.

"What happened?" Mustang hissed, pulling his hands away from the last of the transmutation.

"Came around the corner, messing with his fly. Guess he had to take a piss, but he didn't see me until he'd almost walked into me." Ed was panting, bracing himself with one arm against the compound wall, the other arm wrapped around his stomach. The general didn't question why the normally lightning-quick boy hadn't seen the intruder until the last moment. Up close, Mustang could see that the man was wearing guardsman's livery; he knelt and felt for a pulse.

"He's still alive, just unconscious. What did you do?"

"Clocked him with my automail hand. Too slow, though." Ed pulled his hand away from his stomach, and Mustang could see the ruby flash of blood on the automail, gleaming jewel-like in the moonlight.

"Shit." Mustang swore, simultaneously pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket to staunch the wound. Only now did he see the knife lying hidden in the shadows of the alley. It appeared to be the guard's belt knife, more useful for cutting meat than fighting. Thank god it hadn't been a sword, for the wound, though bleeding profusely, didn't appear to be deep. "We need to get out of here. Can you walk?"

Ed nodded, shaky but still upright. Mustang took a moment to pull the guardsman into the darkest part of the alley. Hopefully the man had been on his way home, rather than on patrol, and wouldn't be missed for several hours; the man's lack of a sword and carelessness only reinforced Roy's impression. The two alchemists vanished into the darkness, and the lonely street was silent once more.

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Nearly an hour later, and on the far side of town, Ed stumbled slightly, panting from pain and exhaustion. Mustang steadied him, careful not to jar the gash that ran down the younger man's side. "Are you okay? Just a little more, and we can rest."

Fullmetal shook his head, partly in denial, and partly to clear the dull gray fog he could feel creeping over his senses. "No, 's fine. Keep going." His voice was harsh in his throat, and Roy winced just to hear it.

He looked over his subordinate carefully, checking for hidden wounds. As whiny and obnoxious as he could be sometimes, Mustang knew Ed well enough to realize that he often pushed himself to the limit. The kid would cut out his own heart if he thought it served the greater good, and Roy feared some deeper injury. All he could see, however, were a few livid bruises and blood seeping from the makeshift bandages. Ed wasn't moving as though he had broken bones, and what marks he bore seemed to be remnants of his capture rather than deliberate wounds.

They finally reached the meeting point, a derelict townhouse whose upper floors had been gutted by fire. The ground floor had served as some sort of shop in a past life, but now sported only broken windows and piles of rubbish. Roy shoved aside one of the boards that partially covered the door, listening intently for any signs of life inside the building. Hearing nothing, he half-carried, half-dragged Fullmetal through to the back room of the shop.

The damage here was not as complete as in the front, the floor less rough and filthy. By this point Edward looked half-dead, his pallid skin glowing in the moonlight that streamed through the windows high on the back wall. His blood looked black in the silver light, the bruises dark as shadows. He leaned against a wall, then slid down until he was seated with his legs curled in front of him, his forehead resting on his bent knees.

Roy knelt down beside him, concerned. "Fullmetal, don't fall asleep. I need to check your injuries."

"'m not asleep." The boy mumbled, his voice muffled by his knees. Sitting this close to him, Roy realized that he could hear the faint, slithering sound of rattling metal—the sound of Edward's automail shivering.

Cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner, Roy stripped off his own heavy overcoat and slung it around the teenager's shoulders, tucking it down around him. Ed hunched into the residual heat of the coat, too weary and sick to object to wearing something of Roy's.

"Fullmetal, do you have any injuries besides the cut in your side?" Edward shook his head. Roy took a more commanding tone. "Are you certain? I need to know how hurt you are."

Edward tilted his head back against the wall so he could look the General in the eye. "No, nothing else."

Roy sat back on his heels, sighing in relief. "Good. I was afraid that they would have tortured you." Ed's mouth tightened into a flat line, and his eyes slid away from Roy's. Mustang felt a sudden, sick lurch of dread in the pit of his stomach. "Tell me."

When Ed spoke, his voice was soft and layered with exhaustion. "They didn't need to use knives. One of the guards had automail himself, and he knew about how the ports connect straight into the nervous system. They had a hand-crank generator…" At that moment Roy would've gladly burnt Ed's captors to cinders. The thought of the small figure in front of him being wracked by electricity and pain sent a jolt of pure fury through him.

Edward must have seen something of his emotions in his face, because his next words were an attempt at reassurance. "They didn't do that much. They didn't need torture to get information out of me; the drugs did a good enough job of that." The was a small twist of self-loathing in his voice, as though he blamed himself for not being strong enough to keep his mouth shut in front of his captors.

Here was another worry, though, and one that might explain the lethargy and confusion that clung around the Fullmetal Alchemist like a cloak. Roy cleared his throat, stifling his previous rage so that he could focus on the matter at hand. "Do you know what they gave you? What drugs they used?"

Ed shook his head, a slow, careful movement. "No, they didn't say. I don't exactly have experience with it, so I couldn't guess. Something to keep me quiet, and something else to make me talk."

Roy's mouth was set in a grim line, but he forced his curiosity to the side for a moment. "We've got a few hours before we meet up with the rest, lie down and try to get some sleep while you can. We still have a long way to go." Ed merely nodded, not so much lying down as falling over sideways. He wrapped Roy's coat more tightly around himself and curled into a tiny ball. Roy stood, watching over his young charge for a few minutes before turning away to keep watch, hoping that tomorrow things would start to go his way.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Three hours later, Riza was late, and Mustang was beginning to worry. Ed had slept the sleep of the dead, broken only by the increasingly harsh rattle of his breathing. Roy hoped it was thirst, rather than illness, that made Edward's breath a hoarse whine in his throat; he would have woken him to drink, but the kid looked so damned tired that he couldn't bring himself to do it. Now, though, the sky had begun almost imperceptibly to lighten, and he knew that if they were going to make their move, they would need to do so soon.

Just when tension had begun to tie knots of pain in his back, a rickety old truck pulled up outside the ruined building, visible through the broken boards that haphazardly covered the empty window frames. The engine rattled along at idle; a dark figure got out of the truck, leaned casually against the passenger-side door, and lit a cigarette. Roy saw the ruddy glow of the ember—the signal he had been waiting for. He leaned down and shook Fullmetal's shoulder, quickly hushing the boy's first confused mumblings.

"They're here, get up." Edward stiffly levered himself into a sitting position, rubbing his face and staring around blearily. He tried to stand up, but after a few false starts Roy leaned over and hauled him to his feet. Deciding that dignity was a fair price for speed, Mustang practically carried Ed out to the street. As soon as he ducked through the doorway, Havoc crushed out his cigarette and swooped in to help hoist Ed into the covered bed of the truck. The whole operation took a bare thirty seconds, and then Havoc was back up front and the truck was rattling along the early-morning streets of the city, joining the slowly growing trickle of produce and merchant vehicles making their pre-dawn rounds.

Breda was in the back, ready with blankets and other basic first-aid supplies. He helped settle Edward in, cleaning and re-wrapping Edward's wound with military precision. Roy handed over a canteen, "Here, I think he's pretty badly dehydrated. Give him some painkillers, too." Breda whispered an affirmative, coaxing the disoriented alchemist to drink. Once Edward realized what he was being offered, he gulped down the water as though he hadn't drunk in days. Roy thought guiltily that he should have woken him up earlier to have some water, exhausted or no.

Breda tucked a second blanket around Ed, who curled up again and fell asleep. Roy realized he had never seen the young alchemist be so quiet for so long, and promised himself he would tease Fullmetal about it once he was back to full health. Breda sat back against the wall of the truck bed, leaning close to Mustang so that their quiet voices couldn't be heard beyond the engine noise. "How's the Chief? Any trouble getting him out?"

Roy shrugged, "A little. Not as bad as it could've been. Why were you late?"

"We got held up looking for that gate you made. It was pretty hard to see in the dark, and we had to double back to find it."

Mustang smirked a little; he might not be as good with earth and stone as Fullmetal, but his alchemy was certainly up to the task. "Well, if _you_ couldn't find it it's a good bet any pursuers won't be able to either." Breda nodded, glad the General wasn't too pissed about them running late.

The truck slowed, and both men tensed, listening for any sounds of trouble. They heard a truck door open, and then an odd grinding sound—the gate Mustang had made in the city's curtain wall. The vehicle rolled gently forward for a few moments, followed by the sound of the gate closing and someone getting back into the passenger seat. They traveled at a sedate pace until they were out of earshot of the city walls, then the truck kicked into a higher gear and they sped across the desert floor.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

_Author's note: Hope you enjoyed this week's extra installment! _

_Which would you prefer: Shorter, more frequent chapters, or longer ones that come every other week? If you have a preference, please leave a review to let me know._


	6. Chapter 6 Reunion

_Author's note: Based on the feedback I received, it seems like a lot of people prefer longer, less frequent chapters. This week's installment is the test run. Thanks to everyone who left a review letting me know their preference!_

Chapter 6

Reunion

x

The man screamed in agony, his back arching wildly as he thrashed from the pain. He gibbered and begged, tears mixing with the blood that ran down his face. He was stripped to the waist, the filthy remnants of his guardsman's tunic lying in shreds upon the floor. His interrogator dosed him again with the potent syrup, a dose strong enough to cause permanent damage. The victim's eyes rolled back into his head, and the questioning began again, punctuated by whimpers. In the corner sat a finely clothed man, silently observing everything with bored detachment.

After an interminable period of screams and pleas, the man stood, fastidiously straightening the wrinkles from his coat. "Enough. He's clearly useless, and this is a waste of time. Finish up down here." The interrogator bowed in assent, and the observer swept out, the faint perfume of incense trailing behind him.

He strode sedately through the complex, the hallways growing cleaner and brighter as he ascended. His journey ended at a small courtyard; a tiled fountain tinkled merrily in the center, and decorative trees provided pleasant shade from the growing heat of the day. An elderly man sat peeling an orange by the fountain, carefully gathering the discarded rind into a handkerchief spread across his lap. His face was seamed with wrinkles and laugh lines, and his liver-spotted fingers bore heavy gold rings set with rubies and emeralds. The overall impression was one of a kindly old grandfather, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that the wary were quick to note.

He gestured for the younger man to join him on the edge of the fountain, but the invitation was declined.

"Ah, yes, musn't get water on such fine silk." His voice was gentle and good-natured, in much the same way that a housecat appears gentle and good-natured to everyone but the mouse. "And how does the search for our young guest go?"

"There have been no sightings, and no reports of him leaving through any of the city gates. There are signs of alchemic transmutation on several of the compound walls, showing where he must have escaped. He most likely has a minor wound, but the only witness has been unable to provide any further details."

"Oh, my. You made sure to ask the right questions?" A nod. "Of course you did, you are always careful about such things."

"What should we do next? Begin a city-wide search?"

The elder shook his head, his attention on separating the orange into its segments. "Ah, I don't think we need to go that far, no?"

The slightest hint of a raised eyebrow, quickly smoothed away.

The old man chuckled. "My dear, there's no need to search all over the garden for a rabbit when you know where its nest is. You simply sit and wait, and snare it in its burrow." He sucked on a piece of orange, humming in pleasure at its sweetness.

His companion bowed. "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

"Yes, do. We still have quite a few questions for our young friend, hmm?"

The observer allowed himself a small smile. "Yes, I believe we do."

x

Ed slept the sleep of the dead- slept through the painfully bumpy ride across the rough desert floor, slept through the midday halt and the final setting up of camp, slept through Breda carrying him into his tent; there was a tacit agreement among the soldiers to never mention that part to the vitriolic young alchemist. He did not wake until late the following afternoon, and his temper was immediately put to the test by Breda insisting on giving him a thorough medical check. Ed grumbled, but he submitted with uncharacteristic obedience. Breda left the tent with a frown creasing his forehead, and was instantly cornered by Mustang.

"How is he? Good enough for us to move?" The General was careful to keep his voice professional, but Breda knew him well enough to detect the undercurrent of worry that ran through his words.

"His wound's fine, nothing to worry about. Should be pretty much healed in a week or two, if he doesn't tear it or get an infection.

Mustang narrowed his eyes, "What about the rest of him?"

Breda shrugged "Sir, the Chief's pretty pale, and quieter than I've ever seen him. He said they'd been giving him stuff, drugs or something, the whole time they had him." Mustang nodded; this, he already knew. "I don't think the stuff's totally out of his system. If I had to guess, I'd say he might be starting to go through withdrawal. At a minimum, he's pretty dehydrated and underfed. He can probably travel, but we should keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't overdo it."

Mustang made an assenting noise; he'd suspected all of this himself, but Breda served to confirm his suspicions. "We'll stay here one more night, then pack up in the morning. I don't think that the guard who stabbed Fullmetal saw me, so hopefully they still think he's alone and on foot. We can take the southern road to the border, and should be in Amestris in a couple of days. Get the shrimp something to eat."

Breda grinned, recognizing the affection behind the insult, "He's not so shrimpy anymore, Sir."

Mustang shrugged, a lopsided grin on his own face. "Some nicknames never die." The two soldiers parted company, Mustang to give orders to the rest of his men, Breda to the food supplies.

x

Several hours later found Mustang on a low rocky hill, surveying the horizon for signs of pursuit. Neither movement nor dust clouds gave hint that they were being tracked, and he let himself relax a little. Annoying as Fullmetal could be, Mustang still considered him a friend, and he'd spent nearly a week stifling a growing concern for the young man. He'd feel much better once he'd gotten the troublesome alchemist safely to Amestris.

His thoughts were interrupted by a clank and a curse. He turned to find Edward slowly climbing the hill, lurching clumsily every time he had to put weight on his automail leg. Mustang had assumed that his stumbling the night of the escape was due to fatigue and injury, but perhaps there was more to it. He waited patiently for the young man to scale the hill, biting back a sarcastic remark. The kid had had a hard enough time as it was, and he didn't want to risk Ed damaging himself further in a fit of rage.

Ed finally reached the hilltop, and had to pause for breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees. "Damn it," he gasped, "locked up for a week and my muscles feel like noodles."

"Rough week."

"You got that right." Ed straightened, taking in the view that had drawn Mustang to the hill. The lowering sun painted stark shadows across the sere landscape, highlighting the ridges and gullies in harsh contrast. It was both beautiful and bleak, not unlike the young alchemist himself. "Do you know what happened to the archaeologists? The ones I was with at the camp?

"Once we finally got ahold of Professor Hawkins to find out where you had gone, I sent a detachment of soldiers and medics out to look for them. I've been incommunicado for the last several days, so I don't know what their report is." Fear, guilt, and sadness flashed across Edward's face. "I promise, I'll let you know as soon as I can."

"Yeah." He turned to look back at the sunset, accompanied by the grinding clank of his damaged automail.

Mustang nodded towards it. "You'll have to see Miss Rockbell once we get back to Central."

Ed winced, "Yeah, she's gonna be pissed about this." He scowled down at his recalcitrant leg, "Especially if those bastards fucked up the port." He shuddered at the thought of having to get his neural ports replaced.

"Maybe a part's just broken; have you tried taking a look? You might be able to patch it up with alchemy, at least 'til we get to Amestris." Ed said nothing, suddenly deeply interested in the sunset.

Mustang frowned. "Ed?" The young man sunk his chin onto his chest and mumbled something. More firmly now, "Edward."

"My alchemy won't work." Ed said it deliberately, trying and failing to sound casual.

"What? What do you mean it won't work?" His voice was harsh with surprise.

"Look." The young alchemist, washed golden in the dying light, clapped his hands and stiffly knelt to place them on the ground. There was the briefest fizzle of electricity, but it died out almost immediately.

Mustang had seen failed transmutations before, usually with inexperienced alchemists who had made some error in composing their array. This looked similar, but he'd never witnessed Ed make such a mistake before. "Have you tried drawing it out, rather than clapping?"

His companion shook his head, "I didn't have anything to draw with, and they kept my arms chained up the whole time." Roy dug a piece of chalk out of his pocket and passed it to him. Ed used it to draw a basic array, then placed his palms on the circle. Again blue lightning lit up the array, and again it sputtered out.

"Damn." Roy's mind ran through explanations, but came up blank. "Do you have any idea why you suddenly can't transmute?" Edward flinched; Roy scowled, "Fullmetal."

Ed held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Okay, I know this was really stupid…" He told Mustang about what the archaeologists had found, and his and Jacques' theories about the monolith's purpose. When he got to the point where he had gotten up in the middle of the night, Roy sneered in anger; Ed finished up the story as quickly as he could, wincing in anticipation of what he knew Mustang would say. He was not disappointed.

"Are you a complete idiot? What on earth would compel you to activate a strange array? Even the stupidest second-rate apprentice knows better than that. You're lucky you weren't killed!" Roy was yelling now, absolutely furious.

Ed's defense mechanisms kicked in, and he raised his voice as well. "I know that! I don't need you to tell me. I couldn't exactly tell them my family history, though, could I? What was I supposed to do?"

"Nothing! You could have done _nothing_. Just written it off as an interesting historical find, noted down your observations, then walked away. But no, you had to try it out. You had to be reckless." Mustang quieted down on the last sentence, his anger obviously mixed with concern.

Ed's shoulders slumped. "I know it was stupid. It's not like I jumped in without thinking, though. I researched every part of the array; there was nothing on it that should've harmed the user."

Roy rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache; Fullmetal was an excellent migraine trigger. "I assume they took your research notes?" Ed nodded. "Okay, then when we get back to camp, write down everything you remember about the array. I'll help you go over it in the morning; maybe we can figure out some way to reverse it."

"Thanks." They stood for a few minutes, staring out over the desert. The sun was past the horizon now, and Roy could barely make out Fullmetal's form in the gloom. His voice was quiet, and seemed to drift like smoke from the darkness. "It gets worse."

"Worse than losing your alchemy?

There was a pause, then, "I told them about my father.

Roy felt a sudden, foreboding, chill, "How much?"

Ed laughed, a broken sound full of anger and self-loathing, "Everything.

Roy himself knew, if not everything, a fair amount about Hohenheim. He was one of the very few who understood the man's full involvement in the Promised Day, though he had met him only briefly during the chaotic events leading up to the fall of the homunculi, and again when he had come to ask about Fullmetal's disappearance.

He also knew that the lure of immortality would be a heady thing to men who were knowledge-hungry enough to kidnap alchemists. Mustang wished, suddenly, that he had torched the compound when he had the chance. It galled him to leave enemies alive behind him, waiting to strike.

x

Though he had regained much of his strength, Edward was still plagued with dizziness and nausea. The long train ride made it worse, and once they'd entered the borders of Amestris, he curled up in his borrowed coat and tried to sleep off the motion-sickness. They finally reached the Central Rail Station, and Hawkeye woke the boy.

"Ed, get up. We're here." She touched his shoulder to rouse him.

Fullmetal blinked blearily up at her. "Wha'?"

A rare smile softened Hawkeye's face, "We're in Central. It's time to get up."

"Oh, okay, thanks." The boy yawned and stretched, trying to wake up. He still felt as though he was on the wrong end of a hangover, but the nap had driven away his persistent headache. He followed the soldiers towards the exit, happy for the chance to finally move his legs.

The second he stepped onto the train platform, he staggered drunkenly to one side, knocking into Breda. The stolid man grabbed his arm to steady him. "You okay, Chief?"

Ed shook his head, partially in denial, partially to try to clear it. "Don't you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"The ground… it's moving." He took an experimental step, but the cement floor of the platform seemed to swing and dodge beneath his feet.

Breda frowned in concern. "Chief, there's nothing wrong with the ground. You need to sit down?"

The young man shook his head, then stood very still, trying to let his jumpy stomach settle down. "No, just give me a sec." He took a more tentative step, then another. It reminded him of walking on the pitching deck of a boat at sea. It was difficult, but not impossible, to walk, and he found that he was growing more used to the unsteadiness of the ground. "Yeah, I'm fine."

As he limped off towards the rest of Mustang's men, the General himself stepped off the train behind Breda. "Everything all right?"

Breda shrugged. "Don't know, Boss. The Chief still seems kinda out of it. Says it feels like the ground's moving." Both men's eyes tracked the alchemist's progress; it was hesitant, but stable.

"Have Hawkeye schedule a doctor's appointment for him, and make sure he goes."

Breda saluted. "Yes, sir."

Edward caught up with the soldiers as they waited for their luggage to be unloaded. He helped Fuery pull a heavy ammo case out of the way, but found that even so small an exertion left him breathless and shaky. He wiped sweat off his forehead, disheartened.

"Brother?" The voice was soft, gentle, uncertain. Ed's head snapped up, his moment of weakness forgotten.

"Al!" A broad, happy grin stretched across his face, erasing the marks of fatigue and strain. Al stood a few paces away, suitcase dropped haphazardly on the ground beside him, an answering smile brightening his own face. In a few quick strides he reached his brother and wrapped him in a hug.

"Oh, I was so worried! Dad said he'd gotten ahold of General Mustang- hello, Sir Mustang nodded at the boy as he walked up, "but then no one could reach him, and no one at the office would tell me what was going on." Al's voice tripped over itself, his usual calm demeanor overwhelmed by his joy at seeing his brother.

"It's okay, Al, everything's fine." Ed was still grinning. Despite the gray and drizzly day, the boys' love and affection for one another was as visible as warm sunlight. It reminded Mustang of how grateful he was that these two had managed to make it safely through the Promised Day.

x

The next afternoon found Edward in Mustang's office. He and Al had been settled into temporary housing for the night and allowed to sleep in, before Hawkeye showed up to escort him to a mandatory physical exam; he'd grumbled, but only halfheartedly. Mustang suspected that Ed still felt too awful to put up much of a fight, and the doctor's report confirmed it: bruises, malnutrition, dehydration, temporary nerve damage in his automail ports, minor electrical burns, lingering headaches and nausea due to the drug residue in his system, and a slight bronchial infection, all in addition to the laceration on his stomach.

Even now, the kid looked like death warmed over, and Mustang felt a pang of guilt for making him come into the office, rather than sending him back to bed. He shook off the feeling, focusing instead on the matter at hand.

"I think it would be best if you stayed out of the East for a while, at least until we make sure that your kidnappers won't come after you." Mustang settled into his desk, idly sorting through some of the papers that littered its crowded surface.

Ed grimaced, "How likely do you think that is? With those bastards knowing that immortality is possible…" He let the thought trail off and shrugged.

Mustang rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking doubtful himself. "Unfortunately, I think you're right. We should contact your father and let him know of the threat. Do you know how to reach him?"

Fullmetal dropped down onto Roy's couch with a thump and leaned back against the soft leather cushions. "We don't exactly keep in contact. Al would be the one to ask." He sighed and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out some of the pain and stiffness. Nearly a week spent chained up by his arms, followed by a long and difficult journey, had left the young man feeling decades older. "I need to figure out where I'm going to go, if I can't go back to Professor Hawkins."

"About that…" Mustang pulled open a drawer and began rifling through it. "I was going to wait until you were done studying out East, but since you're here, I thought you might want to consider it." He unearthed a manila folder from the depths of the drawer. Ed sat up straight in interest tempered with suspicion; he knew to be wary of Mustang's 'good ideas.

"Consider what?"

"The University here in Central was wondering if you'd be interested in teaching. They've actually been bugging us about it for the last couple of years, but you couldn't be spared from the fight against the homunculi. It's actually perfect; the new semester starts in a couple of weeks, you'd draw a regular salary in addition to research funds, and it'd be harder for someone to kidnap you." He handed the folder to Edward, who opened it to find employment requirements and other detailed information about the job.

Ed skimmed the documents, then looked up. "What if I suck at it, or don't like doing it?"

Mustang shrugged, "The semester's only a few months long; if it doesn't work out, then don't agree to stay on. They're so eager to have you, I'm sure the University would be willing to let you work on a trial period. What do you think?"

His young friend looked through the papers again, thinking. "I might enjoy it, I guess. And it looks like my schedule would be pretty flexible…" His eyes rose to Mustang's, uncharacteristic doubt hiding in them. "Trouble is, I'd be the same age as my students, maybe even younger. Don't you think that might be a problem?"

Mustang laughed, "What happened to your usual excessive self-confidence? Don't worry, you're the legendary Fullmetal Alchemist. Once word gets out that you're teaching, they'll probably have to turn away students at the door."

Ed made a face at him. "Fine, but what about the little issue of my alchemy not working? Gonna be hard to teach alchemy if I can't even perform it."

The General sobered up a bit. "Teach a theoretical class, then, not a practical one. You can probably get an assistant to activate any arrays you need, too. Use some of that research funding to look into why you suddenly can't transmute."

The young alchemist grinned and relaxed. "You're right. Well," he heaved himself to his feet, only needing a brief moment to steady himself, "I should probably head over to the University to sort stuff out. See ya." He left with only a vague wave over his shoulder as he went out the door.

Roy tilted back in his chair and swung his feet up onto his desk, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling of his office. An evil smirk played across his face as he thought of the poor bastard who'd be Ed's superior at the University. If they thought they were just getting a brilliant alchemist, they were in for a nasty surprise.

x

_Author's note: I hope you enjoyed having a longer chapter; this one was about a thousand words longer than my average. Was it worth waiting two weeks, or should I go back to shorter and more frequent ones?_


	7. Chapter 7 Collapse

_Author's note: Thank you to all the reviewers who took the time to leave kind and helpful reviews. It really does inspire me to keep writing!_

Chapter 7

Collapse

x

Two girls sat gossiping in the crowded lecture hall, watching their classmates mill around before class started. "Ooh, who's that? He's cute." chirped one girl, pointing to a young man who'd just walked in with a briefcase and pile of papers. He began unloading everything onto the long table at the front of the room. He handed the papers to another young man, who began distributing them onto the desks.

"I don't know, maybe he's Professor Jorgenson's TA? Mmm, I wish I had hair like that. It's wasted on a boy."

"Not that wasted, he's pretty handsome. Wait, Jorgenson? I thought Tung was teaching this one?" The chatter continued until the clock tower bell struck nine o'clock and students began settling into their seats. The young blond man cleared his throat, and the students obligingly fell silent.

"Good morning. There's been a slight schedule change; if you're here for Professor Tung's class on Organic Composition, that's now being held in room 223." A brief clatter in the back signaled the departure of a misplaced student. "For the rest of you, welcome to Advanced Composite Arrays. Professor Jorgenson has decided to retire a semester early, so I'll be teaching this class. I'm Professor Elric," he turned to write his name on the board behind him, followed by dates and times. "You should all have a syllabus in front of you; my office hours are Monday and Wednesday afternoons between-."

"Excuse me, sir." A student shot his hand up in the front of the room.

Professor Elric turned around, looking a bit put out. "Yeah? Gotta question?"

"Are you _Edward_ Elric?" A few students began whispering to their neighbors. Emboldened, the young man expanded, "The Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"No, I am _not_ the Fullmetal Alchemist." There was a bite of sarcasm in his voice now, and the student began to sink into his seat, disheartened. "I don't go by that title since I retired." The boy shot back out of his chair, looking ridiculously thrilled. The whole room was taken up with loud whispering, and dozens of hands were in the air now. Those who had heard of the Fullmetal Alchemist were informing their more ignorant neighbors, and several of the girls (and a few of the boys) looked in danger of swooning.

Ed rubbed his face in exasperation. "Okay, quiet down." There was no noticeable diminishment of the noise level. He slammed his metal hand onto the oak of the lectern, and bellowed, "Quiet down!"

The room was instantly silent, except for a few nervous giggles. "I appreciate that this is the first day of class, and you're all very excited to be here, but we have a lot of stuff to get through. If you have any questions, either ask my assistant, Mr. Matthews," he indicated his rather mousy-looking TA, "or come find me during my office hours, _which_, as I was saying, are Monday and Wednesday afternoons between 1:30 and 2:30."

Though the whispering never completely died down, Ed was able to wrap up class without diverging too far off-topic. He assigned some heavy reading as homework and escaped to his office, dodging a few determined students. He collapsed into the beat-up armchair that occupied a good chunk of his office space, and buried his head in his hands. "Ugh. I am not cut out for this." he groaned to himself.

"Don't worry, it gets better." Ed looked up to see his department head leaning against the doorframe. Dr. Hanley was round, balding, and jovial, just a tweed jacket and pipe away from being the stereotypical university boffin.

"You do realize that I haven't gone to school myself since I was eleven, right?" The younger man gave a tilted grin to his new mentor.

Hanley shrugged, "Nobody expects geniuses to be normal. Especially not genius-prodigy-war heroes. We're just happy to have someone of your alchemical caliber here."

The former State Alchemist snorted. "Hardly a war hero. I was just a dog of the military, and I did what needed to be done. I made a hell of a lot of mistakes along the way, too."

"Son, that's what heroes are; people who did what needed to be done, even at great risk to themselves. I've been following your career ever since I heard about the child who was brilliant and foolhardy enough to pass the State exams. I know how much you've sacrificed for this country."

Ed shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to deal with this kind of praise. "I know people who sacrificed a damn lot more than I ever did, but they'll never be in the history books."

Hanley straightened, stepping away from the doorframe. "In any case, you're still the beloved young People's Alchemist; it'll help ease your transition. If you find yourself having any real troubles, my door is right down the hall." He smiled, his face easing into wrinkles formed by a lifetime of geniality. "You'll do fine." The older man wandered out into the hallway, humming to himself.

Edward took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He checked the schedule that Matthews had helpfully written out for him, and saw that he was free until his afternoon office hours. The University had agreed to let him work a part-time teaching schedule, with the remainder of his salaried hours going towards research time. He rather felt as though he were being treated like a prize, though he appreciated the open schedule. With that in mind, he made for the University library and a long afternoon of hunting down Xerxian history.

x

Late that afternoon, exhausted from poring through the special reserved section of the library and a brutally overbooked office hour with his students, Ed staggered into his apartment and collapsed face-down on his couch. The University had offered to provide him with on-campus housing, but the young alchemist had chosen to put part of his military pension towards a loft studio in an old building a few blocks from the school.

Fifteen minutes later Al came in, fresh-faced and cheery from whatever he had decided to do all day; Ed mumbled a greeting into the cushion. "Are you okay? How was your first day?" Alphonse leaned over the back of the couch, smiling at his brother.

Ed flopped over onto his back, an arm over his eyes. "Fine, but I don't know if I can handle all these students."

Al frowned in concern, "Were they mean? Did they not listen to you? Just because you're a little young…"

Edward cut him off with a snort of ironic laughter. "No, totally the opposite. They act like I'm some kind of big-time celebrity. I had sixty students show up to my office hours today! I don't even teach all of them; a bunch were just people trying to get into my class."

His younger brother smiled. "That's great, though! That means they like you."

"Yeah, they like me so much they won't let me get a word in edgewise. I could barely get through class today because of all the stupid personal questions. Don't even get me started on the girls, they were the worst." He shuddered at the memory.

Al pulled a pillow from the end of the couch and hit him with it. "Oh, poor you, having girls swooning over you." He laughed at his brother's outraged expression.

"You don't understand! They kept asking me all these questions about what kind of music I like and what I do in my free time. And they kept touching me!"

At this Al broke down into full-on giggles, imagining his tough elder brother at the mercy of a bunch of pretty young co-eds. "Brother, you're nineteen! You're going to have to learn how to talk to girls eventually."

Ed sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I know how to talk to girls, Al. I talk to Winry, and Hawkeye, and Mei, and lots of other girls all the time. These girls, though… it was like watching a bunch of lionesses stalking their prey, and _I'm_ the gazelle."

"So you're unhappy that they like you?"

"That's the problem! They don't like me, they don't even know me!"

The younger Elric's giggling quieted down, and he thought for a moment. "Well, you are pretty famous… and the newspapers used to print all kinds of things about how wonderful and brave you were back before the Promised Day…" Ed muttered something about how the journalists should've had a word with Mustang. "I guess they just like the idea of you. I bet that once you've been teaching a while, and they see what you're really like, they'll stop liking you so much."

Ed nodded, "Yeah, you're probably right… Wait, what do you mean by 'once they see what I'm really like?' Hey!" A brief wrestling match ensued, which Alphonse inevitably won. He used the tussle as a chance to secretly gauge his brother's health; even after two weeks of recuperation, Edward was still unsteady and a trifle pale. He did a good job of hiding it, but Al knew him well enough to see the uncertainty of movement, the hesitation upon standing. Alphonse had tried to bring it up several times, but each time Ed passed it off as residual effects of his imprisonment, effects he claimed were fading. What was unknown was whether Ed was getting better, or just better at concealing it.

As both boys lay panting on the living room rug, Al made a suggestion. "Let's go out to celebrate your first day of teaching!"

"Sounds like a plan, brother." The boys smiled and hauled themselves off the floor.

x

"What about that one? He's kind of cute in a nerdy-accountant sort of way."

"Nah, not my type."

"That one's pretty built."

"And also wasted. No thanks."

"Jeeze, you're picky. What about…. Ooh, there's a hot blond! Part of a matched set, too, mmm. Want me to take the short one?" The girl's nasal voice cut through the early-evening noise.

Al snickered into his beer as Ed glared over his shoulder at the loud, drunken girls at the table behind them. "Next time, we need to find a better bar. This one's full of dumb-ass college students."

"Aw, come on! They were checking us out. Or are you afraid Winry'll hear about it?" The younger Elric elbowed his fuming brother.

Ed blushed, but did not rise to the bait. Alphonse had been trying to get him to talk about his relationship with his winsome mechanic for days, but he was having none of it. Things were too… up in the air… to discuss it, at least until Winry was able to get away from Rush Valley. He decided to change topics. "I'm pretty sure they were checking _you_ out, Al. You were the 'hot blond' and I was the 'short one' in that equation." The last few words were said through gritted teeth, though mercifully without the fury that would've accompanied them a few years earlier. "Which is totally unfair, because you're barely an inch taller than me now." He tossed back the dregs of his beer.

"Sure, Brother, whatever you say." Al smirked through his beer mug, his face belying his pacifying tone.

Edward slammed his empty glass onto the bar. "I'm gonna hit the john, you wanna order another round?" He threw some coins onto the counter and slid off his stool. Al was reaching for them when Ed staggered, seemed to briefly catch his balance against the back of his bar stool, then collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Brother!" Al was instantly on his knees beside his prostrate brother, carefully flipping him onto his back and checking for any injuries; though Ed was white as a sheet and unconscious, he seemed otherwise unharmed. "Brother! Edward! Can you hear me?" There was no response. Al looked up frantically at the bartender, who was leaning over the counter to eye the young men warily. Alphonse ignored the crowd of curious onlookers and asked the publican to call a taxi right away.

"Taxi's not gonna want to drive you if he's throwing up." The man had obviously seen his fair share of drunken customers.

Al shook his head, "He's not drunk, he's only had one beer. Please, something's wrong."

The barkeeper caught the current of fear in the young man's voice, and took a closer look at Edward's pale face and limp body; he strode quickly to the phone and began punching in the number for a local taxi service. Al supported his unresponsive brother, mumbling unheard reassurances.

In the end, the bartender had to help drag Ed to the door and into the waiting cab. Al sat in the back with his brother's head in his lap, fretting all the way to the hospital. Once there, the orderlies wheeled Ed away for testing, and an admissions nurse interrogated Al about his brother's medical history. Once she sent him to the waiting room, he hunted down a phone.

The phone rang four times before it was picked up, and the voice on the other end was gravelly with fatigue. "Mustang."

"Oh, General, sir, I'm really sorry to be calling you this late, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Alphonse?" Roy looked at the clock; it was just past ten, well before his normal bedtime, but late for a personal call. He spoke more sharply into the phone, "What's wrong?"

"It's Brother. He's collapsed; I took him to the hospital, but they're not sure what's wrong with him, and he won't wake up." Al's voice was shaking.

"I'll be right there."

Fifteen minutes later found Mustang striding into the waiting room, trailed by Riza Hawkeye. Both were wearing casual clothes, though their military bearing was unmistakable. Roy spotted Alphonse hunched over in one of the chairs, blond head cradled in his hands.

"Alphonse."

The teenager looked up, a small measure of relief easing his features. "Sir, I'm so glad you're here." He spotted Riza, then gave the two a shy, considering look, obviously guessing that they had been together when he called. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, thank you for coming." Hawkeye smiled at him reassuringly.

Mustang got straight to the point. "What happened?"

"We were out at the pub down the block from our apartment, and Ed just lost his balance, and collapsed on the floor. I tried to wake him up, but he was completely passed out. He still hasn't woken up yet." The young man wrung his hands in worry.

"Are you sure he's not just drunk?" Riza's voice was gentle.

Al shook his head, "No, he'd only had one beer. He has work in the morning, so we didn't want to stay out late. He definitely didn't sound or act like he was drunk. He was just… normal."

"There was no warning, he didn't say anything about feeling sick?" Roy carefully stamped out any trace of fear from his own voice.

"No, nothing. But…" Al's voice trailed off, unsure.

"What is it?"

"He hasn't been the same since he came back from the East. He's been really pale, and not eating as much as he used to. I think he has trouble with his balance sometimes, too."

Roy and Riza shared a look over the boy's head; the symptoms sounded very familiar. "He didn't say anything about it?"

Alphonse shook his head. "I asked him if he was feeling okay, but he said that it was just some side-effects of what the kidnappers drugged him with, and that it was wearing off. He said the balance problems were because his leg was a bit messed up, and that Winry was going to come fix it as soon as things slowed down in Rush Valley." He ran his hands roughly through his hair, and when he spoke again there was a touch of self-loathing in his voice, "I'm so stupid! I knew something was wrong, I should've _made_ him tell me. Stupid!" He looked up at them, desperation in his eyes. "What'll I do if he doesn't get better?"

Riza sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be fine. He's probably right, it's most likely just some residual effects of the drugs the kidnappers gave him. He just started a new job, so maybe the stress just made the symptoms a bit worse."

Al hunched over, wrapping his arms around his stomach and staring at the floor. "You don't know that." He whispered, "You can't assume that he'll just get better."

Mustang frowned; sure, some fear was normal for something like this, but Al seemed almost terrified. "Alphonse, what is it? What are you so afraid of?"

The boy looked up, a haunted look in his eyes. "Because I've seen it happen before. With Mom. She was fine, and then one day she just collapsed. She never got better, and after a month she… she…" He clamped his mouth shut, unable to continue. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his voice now a whisper, "They never figured out what was wrong with her. What if it's genetic? What if Ed has it?" His voice failed him completely, and he huddled, shivering and miserable in his chair. Riza stroked his head, a soothing, maternal gesture.

Mustang made a decision; he knelt down in front of Al, bringing himself into the boy's field of vision. "How much did Fullmetal tell you about the time he was kidnapped?"

Al looked up, confused. "Not a lot. He just said he went out to look at an archaeological site, and that while he was there the dig was attacked by bandits, who kidnapped him. He said the kidnappers gave him some drugs to keep him quiet, and beat him up a bit, but that other than that he was fine."

Roy frowned; it wasn't like Fullmetal to keep so much from his brother. "Did he tell you about the array he activated?"

"What array?" The boy's tone was bewildered now.

The older man sighed, moving to sit next to Al. "The archaeologists had discovered an ancient array carved into a stone column. It was Xerxian, but Fullmetal said that it didn't look like any transmutation circle he'd ever seen; something about it needing blood, the right blood, to activate it. The scientists tried, but nothing happened."

Al's eyes widened, his thoughts racing ahead of Roy. "Did it need to be _Xerxian_ blood?"

"That's what Ed assumed. He snuck out late at night and used his own blood to activate the array."

The younger Elric groaned and covered his face with his hand. "Of course he did. Brother, you idiot." He sighed. "What did it transmute into?"

Mustang shook his head. "That's the thing, Ed said it didn't seem to do anything. It began glowing, and then he blacked out. When he woke up several hours later, everything looked the same. The only thing that was different was…" Mustang's voice hardened, as though to cover some other emotion. "Al, Ed can't transmute anymore. He's lost his alchemy."

Alphonse's head snapped up, his eyes searching the General's face. "Then does that mean… that _Brother_ was the thing that was transmuted?"

Roy's mouth tightened into a thin line, unwilling to speak his thoughts. Hawkeye shifted next to him, the slight movement from the normally unflappable woman speaking volumes of her concern.

Al continued, speaking more to himself than to them, "But… that would be human transmutation, wouldn't it? There would have to have been a sacrifice, right?" His voice was wrought with fear.

Mustang gripped the boy's shoulder, trying to calm him. "Alphonse, we don't know that that's what it was. It might have just been a backlash from a failed transmutation; that array was hundreds of years old, and who knows if it was even diagrammed correctly in the first place. There's a good chance that Fullmetal will recover naturally. He's also been doing a lot of research at the University library to see if he can reverse the effects."

"He's known this for weeks… how could he not say anything? _Why_ didn't he say anything?" Al's voice was shaky with fear and betrayal. He dashed tears from his eyes, anger beginning to take over. "Damn it, what was he thinking?"

Hawkeye rubbed his back soothingly, her rare maternal side showing. "He was probably trying to protect you. He didn't want you to worry."

Alphonse snorted. "No, he didn't want me to be mad. I'm going to _kill_ him when he wakes up. Brother, you idiot!" It was almost shocking to see the normally gentle boy so angry, but Mustang shot a relieved look at Hawkeye; without realizing it, Al had gone from worrying that Ed wouldn't wake up to threatening his life when he did. Roy was of the firm opinion that anger was almost always better than fear. Anger spurred on action, while fear stifled it. Now if the target of his anger would just wake up…

x

_Author's note: What was your favorite part in this chapter? What questions do you have that the story hasn't answered yet?_

_Also, I bought a house yesterday, so the next update might be a little slower or shorter. I promise, I'm still working on this, and the story will continue!_


	8. Chapter 8 Mortality

_Author's note: A short but sweet interlude with two of my favorite characters!_

Chapter 8

Mortality

x

Shortly after Al's breakdown in the waiting room, Mustang was called away by an orderly to 'fill out paperwork.' In reality, he was handed off to a corporal who led him on a circuitous route through the bowels of the hospital. Eventually they reached the secure area normally reserved for important diplomats and dangerous prisoners. He was let into a room guarded by a stern-looking soldier who saluted without ceasing his vigilant stance.

It was a small space, obviously meant as a waiting area for relatives and visitors rather than a patient's room; tasteful lamps cast a warm glow over a pair of sofas flanking a low coffee table. A blond figure sat idly flipping through a newspaper. When the door opened he hastily dropped the paper to the table and stood, his eyes searching Mustang's face.

Roy raised a calming hand, "Don't worry, he's not in any immediate danger. The doctors think he just over-exerted himself."

Hohenheim frowned. "And what do you think?"

The Flame Alchemist shrugged. "In my opinion they're right, at least in part. Unfortunately, I think that the other part has to do with that damned array he activated. Have you been able to find out anything?" He gestured for the other man to sit, taking the opposite chair.

"Unfortunately, no. From what you've shown me of his sketches, it looks like no array I've ever seen."

"Not even any ancient ones?"

"Ancient, modern, Xerxian , or otherwise. I've only been able to do a small amount of research, though. Perhaps if I were able to go to the library…" he trailed off hopefully.

Mustang nodded. "I'll see what I can do. It's difficult to provide adequate security in a place like that."

"Perhaps we should forego the security." Hohenheim's voice was neutral.

The General shook his head. "I'm sorry, but this is an extremely dangerous group we're dealing with here. We've already captured at least one of their agents trying to cross the border, and he committed suicide before we could question him. This cadre goes deeper than we imagined, perhaps even into Central. If they were to kidnap you, knowing what you know, there could be terrible consequences."

The blond smiled sadly. "I thought this was protective custody?"

"It is. You're just not the only one who's being protected."

"In any case, I am not the one in the greatest danger at the moment. What are you doing to help my son?" Van changed the subject, anxious to discuss Edward.

"Can't you use your superior alchemy on him? Reverse this somehow?" Mustang demanded.

Hohenheim shook his head in denial. "I gave those poor souls up to their creator in exchange for bringing my son back. What strength I have now is my own." A look of profound weariness stole across his face. "I am a mortal man now, and my age is catching up with me."

Roy sucked in a sharp breath. "You're dying."

"We're all dying, General. Life is a terminal condition."

"Don't prevaricate, you know what I mean."

Golden eyes crinkled in amusement. "Yes, I know. It will be a relief, I think. We're not meant to have such long lives; I feel the years weighing down on me. It was a burden and a curse."

"So you're saying you're ready to die?" Mustang himself rebelled against that sentiment. Then again, he could barely comprehend what it must be like to live for centuries, watching everyone around you die; human life must seem a fleeting and unstable thing in the face of such endurance.

Hohenheim rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I've been ready for centuries. Now, though, I find myself putting it off; I have a few more things I need to see to."

"Edward." It was not a question.

"And Alphonse; I want to reassure myself that they're happy and safe before I go." He smiled sadly to himself. "I was a terrible father for so long; I owe it to my family to do at least this one thing right."

"We'll fix this. And I will make sure this threat is neutralized, even if I have to personally hunt down every single one of those intellectual psychopaths myself." The General's voice was harsh with both certainty and anger.

The ancient alchemist smiled. "I wouldn't want anyone else for the job."

x

_Author's note: I apologize for the brevity of this chapter; I'm in the middle of a mountain of boxes, and unpacking has drastically cut into my writing time. I promise the next chapter will be longer, and I'll do my best to post it early._

_Reviews are always a great inspiration if you want to speed my writing along ;-)_


	9. Chapter 9 Confession

_Author's note: I passed the 30,000 word mark, so I think I'm far enough ahead to post this next chapter. Thanks for sticking with my story!_

x

Chapter 9

Confession

x

Alphonse carefully tipped the pitcher, his weariness making him cautious of spills. It was early afternoon on the second day of his vigil, and he had only caught a few restless naps ever since his brother's collapse. The nurses had been kind enough to bring him a sandwich and some water for lunch, which he had eaten mechanically at Edward's bedside, barely tasting it. Worried as he was, the hours crawled by. Mustang had apologetically excused himself to go to work, though he left Hawkeye behind to keep the young man company. She eventually had to leave to run some errands, but not without making him promise to call if any emergency arose.

The doctor seemed fairly confident that none would. He claimed that Ed's collapse was the result of nervous exhaustion and the consequence of him not taking his recovery seriously. Al guessed that his brother had made a pain of himself during his last few visits; the staff had that long-suffering look to them that people often got around his short-tempered sibling.

He swirled his glass, watching tiny bubbles whirl in miniature eddies before dissipating. He was just raising the tumbler to his lips when a groan made him pause.

"Al?" The voice was weak, the word mumbled.

"Brother!" Alphonse jumped to his feet, his relief and joy evident, nearly dropping his glass in his rush to set it on the side table. He crushed his brother in a hug, hastily loosening his grasp when the smaller boy grunted in pain. "Are you okay?"

Edward tried and failed to sit up, cradling his forehead with his flesh hand. "I feel like I got hit by a truck. What happened?"

"You fainted at the bar last night. Do you remember anything?" Al's eyes anxiously searched his face.

"Not… not much. I remember getting home from work, and us deciding to go out. I got a beer, and started to feel kinda queasy. Then, I think… I got up? Maybe?" He trailed off, his pale brow wrinkling as he tried to dredge up the memory.

"You turned as white as a sheet, and just collapsed." Alphonse's face tightened in sorrow and anger. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well? Why were you hiding it?"

"I wasn't really hiding it, you knew I wasn't feeling that great." Ed refused to meet his brother's eyes, instead picking at imaginary lint on the bedspread.

Al's voice grew harder, sharper. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lyi-"

"Brother! Just stop!" Golden eyes flew up to meet amber, shocked into making contact. "You knew something was wrong, and you hid it from me. Mustang told me what happened in the desert, about how you can't transmute. Didn't you trust me? Didn't you think I could help?" Alphonse's voice was shaking now, his hands balled into fists. "We promised each other that we would stick together through _everything_, Brother. Why didn't you tell me?"

Ed huddled in his bedsheets, pinned down by his brother's words. "I didn't want you to worry." When he spoke, his voice was tiny.

"So you didn't think I could handle it? Is that it?" Al's voice was strained, feeling betrayed at the thought that his brother had so little trust in him.

"It's not that. It's just…" the young man trailed off, looking pale and lost.

"What? Please, Brother, just tell me." A bit of pleading had crept in.

"I'm frightened." Edward's eyes again slid off to the side, this time in shame.

Alphonse sat back in his chair, shocked. He had, of course, seen his brother afraid before; more rarely had he heard him admit his fear. Only a few times had he heard him speak in that tone of voice; his most vivid memory of it was the time that Ed had admitted that he was afraid that Al hated him for the failed transmutation that trapped the younger Elric in a suit of armor.

"You're afraid that you won't get your ability to transmute back?"

Edward shook his head in denial. "It's not that. Though, I mean, that would really suck. No, I'm just…" he gripped his blanket tightly, twisting it until his knuckles turned white. Al waited silently for him to continue. "I think… I think I've lost my mind. Or I'm in the process of losing it."

Al's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He'd had a whirlwind of fears running through his brain this whole time, but Edward losing his sanity hadn't been one of them. "What makes you think that?" He was careful to keep his voice neutral, leery of upsetting his obviously distraught brother.

"Wherever I go, I feel like the earth is moving under my feet."

Alphonse gave an inward sigh of relief. "Brother, that's probably just from your leg being messed up, and the drugs the kidnappers put you on."

Edward shook his head. "No, that's what I told myself at first too. But it's been getting worse."

"Worse?"

"It feels more violent, and it's starting to feel… alive." He looked sick at the thought.

"What do you mean by 'alive'?" Al glanced involuntarily at the floor, but it remained its usual inanimate self.

"Like I'm standing on a pile of snakes or something. It's like there's something writhing around under the ground. I can't see it, but I can feel it." He shuddered.

"Is that why you've been having trouble with your balance?"

"Pretty much. I mean, some of it _is_ from my leg being screwed up. But, yeah, it's mostly from the ground moving. And it's been getting stronger and stronger."

The younger Elric chewed on his lip in thought. Something about all this sounded very familiar, but in his exhaustion he couldn't quite place it. "Is it just the ground that's bothering you?"

"No. I've also been seeing things… flickering lights and shapes out of the corner of my eye. Not all the time, just sometimes. Mostly when I'm tired." He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

Al frowned in thought for a moment. "Do… do you see them right now?"

Edward glanced around the room. "Not right now. It's worse when I'm outside, or in a crowded place."

"Is there anything else?"

"It… it sounds kind of stupid." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"What is it?" Alphonse leaned forward in his chair, trying to project an air of encouragement.

"You know back when Izumi was training us? That feeling of dread you'd get if you didn't finish your chores and you knew she was going to kill you? It feels like that."

His brother wrinkled his brow in confusion. "It feels like you didn't do your chores?"

"No! Shit, I mean, yeah, it kind of feels like that. Like there's something really important that I was supposed to do, and someone's gonna to be pissed when they find out I didn't do it. It's like somebody's breathing down my neck. Every night I have these dreams where I'm rushing around trying to finish something, but I can never figure out what it is I'm supposed to do." Edward growled in frustrated despair. "Damn it, I think I really am going crazy." He buried his head in his hands.

Paranoia, hallucinations… some part of Alphonse couldn't help but feel that yes, these were the symptoms of insanity. He instantly quashed that thought; determined to find a logical explanation. He gripped his brother's shoulder reassuringly. "Well, _I_ don't think you're crazy. I bet it has something to do with that weird array you found. I'm sure if we go over it, _together_," he put a strong emphasis on the word, "we'll be able to figure it out."

Edward looked up, fear and hope battling in his eyes. "You do?"

Alphonse smiled. "We managed to defeat the homunculi and save the world, I'm pretty sure we can deal with some run-down old transmutation circle."

Ed's eyes crinkled in a grateful smile. "Thanks, Al."

His younger brother smiled sweetly back, then punched him hard in the shoulder.

"Ow! What the hell!"

"_That's_ for not telling me what was going on. Jerk." The menacing words were said with a smile, though his eyes still held a trace of the fear and betrayal he'd felt.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry, okay?" Edward rubbed his arm, guilt keeping him from further complaints.

Al settled back in his chair, feeling better about the situation than he had in hours. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got beat up; sore all over, nasty headache, kind of want to throw up." He lay back fully against his pillows, looking shaken from their intense discussion. His stomach gave a loud rumble; "Really hungry, too."

His brother smiled sympathetically. "I'll go get the doctor to check you over, and get one of the nurses to bring you something to eat."

Ed broke out the puppy dog eyes. "Can't you switch that around and get me food first?"

Al was immune. "No, Brother, I should've gotten the doctor right away as it is. You stay right there and let the nice people here take care of you." He hustled off on his errand, pointedly ignoring the whining that followed him out the door.

x

Alphonse returned twenty minutes later to find Hawkeye standing guard outside Edward's hospital room. He slowed his pace, carefully balancing his tray of soup, bread, and the ever-hated milk. "Hello, Lieutenant. I didn't know you were coming back so soon."

Hawkeye smiled, but moved to block his entrance into the room. "I wouldn't go in there right now."

Al raised his eyebrows. "Is my brother giving the doctor a hard time?"

Riza shook her blonde head, half in denial, half in exasperation. "The doctor left a few minutes ago; Ed's just angry about my errand."

"What?" The young man's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"The General had me go fetch your father this afternoon."

"Oh." Both were painfully aware of the Fullmetal Alchemist's infamously bad relationship with his father. Alphonse had always been the more affectionate and forgiving of the brothers, and nowhere was this difference more apparent than in their attitudes toward Hohenheim. Edward could hold a grudge until you pried it from his cold, dead hands; Alphonse had a gentler heart. The same part of him that made it impossible ignore an orphaned kitten forbade him from withholding forgiveness. He knew that their father deeply regretted missing so much of their childhoods; even more, he understood that Hohenheim's actions on the Promised Day were an expression of his regret and love. Al deeply disagreed with it, but he still understood the motivation. And, deep inside, he was grateful not to be trapped in the empty white limbo of the Gate.

He feared his brother would never understand. In Edward's eyes the moment Hohenheim stepped through the Gate to bring Al home he became no better than any of the other twisted men who used the Philosopher's Stone for their own gain.

Al carefully set the tray down on a nearby chair, unwilling to interrupt his brother. At least there didn't appear to be any yelling going on; from what he could hear, there didn't appear to be _any_ conversation. He settled down to wait, hoping that the silence was a good sign.

His father came out ten minutes later, looking bone-weary in some indefinable way. "Dad!" The youngest Elric jumped to his feet.

Hohenheim smiled, genuinely pleased to see his son. "Alphonse. I'm glad to see you; you were asleep when I stopped by yesterday."

Al looked surprised, "You should've woken me up."

"You looked very tired, and the Lieutenant promised me that I could come back today." He nodded gratefully at Hawkeye before turning a more serious eye on his youngest child. "We're all going to have to sit down and have a long discussion sometime soon."

"Is that what you and Brother were doing? Talking?" Alphonse was surprised at the rush of relief he felt knowing that their father was helping sort this mess out.

The older man sighed. "I did most of the talking; Edward mostly just glared."

"He's still pretty angry about… well, everything." Hohenheim nodded sadly, and Al hastened to reassure him. "But at least he wasn't yelling! That's a good sign, right?"

Van's face crinkled in amusement. "I suppose so. Though perhaps he was simply too tired to yell." Al looked disheartened. "On the other hand, maybe it _was_ a good sign. He did agree to work with me in going over his transmutation problem."

Alphonse searched his father's golden eyes, so much like his brother's. "Did he tell you about… the rest of it?"

Hohenheim's expression was grave. "Bits and pieces. The little he did say is very troubling." He turned a keen eye on his child. "I have the feeling that he gave you far more detail than he gave me. Why don't we see if the Lieutenant here can find us a nice secure room so we can sit down and compare notes?"

Apprehension and optimism warred within him, hope winning out. "That's a great idea, Dad. Let me give Brother his lunch, and then we can get to work."

He carried the tray in to his obstinate sibling, who lay glaring at the ceiling tiles. They chatted desultorily for a few minutes before Al made his excuses and ducked out, Edward still too tired and angry to object. He paused a moment in the doorway, watching his brother pick at his bread. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Ed didn't look away from his lunch. "Yeah, see ya."

Al smiled and turned away, his mind racing ahead. With their father, the only living Xerxian alchemist, on the case, Edward was sure to be cured. The young man strolled out the door, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his heart.

x

"How did you even know where he was?"

Mustang's eyes shot to the door, surprised. His men had left for the day, and Hawkeye had gone to fetch a late dinner, so he was currently alone in the office.

Or at least he should have been. Instead, the rather pale Fullmetal Alchemist was leaning against his doorframe looking dangerously high strung.

"I beg your pardon? And aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

Edward was breathing heavily, either from anger or illness. "I said 'How did you know where the hell he was?'" Ah, definitely anger; Mustang sighed.

"After I understood the full extent of the danger, I decided that protective custody was in order. As soon as we returned to Central I had Hawkeye arrange a place for him to stay." Mustang fell back on his tried-and-true military authority. Unfortunately, military authority had had little effect upon Edward even when he was in the military, and it had even less impact now.

"And you didn't even bother fucking _mentioning_ it to me? Like, 'Hey, Ed, by the way, I've got your dad under fucking _house arrest_?'" Edward was livid.

Mustang struggled to maintain his cool, silently reminding himself that he was the adult in this situation, and nothing good ever came of lowering himself to Fullmetal's level. "He's not under house arrest; I discussed the situation with him, and came to a mutual agreement."

The younger man sneered. "Oh, how nice, you came to an _agreement_. Didn't it occur to you that I would want to be the one to discuss the 'situation' with him? But no, you had to come in all goddamn gung-ho general and take control. Fucking bastard."

Mustang's self-control snapped a little. "Damn it, Fullmetal, be reasonable. You and I both know that you would've put off talking to him for weeks, possibly forever. You're both in very real danger, not to mention all of the innocent bystanders who could get dragged into this. I know you're angry about what he did, but how would you feel if something happened to him because you had never bothered to warn him?"

Ed's anger visibly deflated, leaving him drawn and shaky. "Damn it, I know I shouldn't have put it off, it's just…" he trailed off, grimacing.

Mustang shot him one of those all-knowing looks that never failed to annoy. "Still haven't forgiven him for saving Al's life?" The younger man grit his teeth, glaring at his erstwhile superior. Mustang's voice softened, a hint of sadness coloring it. "Have you forgiven me?"

The blond's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "For what?"

Roy raised a hand to his face, fingers ghosting over his eyes. "For allowing Dr. Marcoh to use the Philosopher's Stone to restore my vision. For making him use it so Havoc could walk again."

Edward sighed, letting himself flop down onto Roy's guest chair. "I never held it against you in the first place."

"Why is it different?"

"You never intended to open the Gate, you shouldn't have had to pay the toll. And it's different because he _knew _how Al and I felt about using the Stone to restore our bodies, and he did it anyway." The feeling of betrayal he normally masked under anger at his father was visible now. "He completely violated everything that we stood for."

"I don't think he did." The General's voice was gentle; Ed rolled his eyes, but did not interrupt. "Fullmetal, think about it. He's been walking around for hundreds of years filled to the brim with other people's souls; talking to them, grieving for them. He had a chance to lay them to rest while simultaneously saving both his son and Amestris. Did it ever occur to you that it's what those souls wanted?"

Edward sat very still, not looking at Roy. He gave no indication of hearing, but Roy could tell that his words were sinking in.

"Edward, they were with your father every moment of every day, completely aware of their surroundings. They watched you and Al as children, knew how much your father loved you and grieved over you. Don't you think that they would have wanted to save Alphonse?"

Fullmetal looked up at him, something like hope in his eyes. Despite his violent protests to the contrary, some part of him had wanted to be able to forgive his father. A _very small_ part, he added silently to himself. "You think that they were… aware?"

Mustang nodded. "I've spoken to your father at length about it; he was able to name every single person who'd been sacrificed to create his Philosopher's Stone. Not just their names; he was able to speak with them, to feel their thoughts and emotions. Honestly, I think it would've driven me crazy." He gave a tilted grin. "Ed, they _chose_ to return through the Gate. Can you blame your father for granting their last wishes?"

The young man took a deep breath, let it out in a gusty sigh. "I'll think about it." He pointed at Roy, glaring. "He's still a bastard, though."

Mustang smiled, relieved at his protégé's softening heart. "If he's a bastard, what does that make you?"

Edward sighed and sunk back into the chair cushions. "A tired son of a bastard."

"Like I said before you started yelling at me, aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

The younger man waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, they said that I just need rest, and I can do that at home better than at the hospital."

"Yes, I can see that you're getting plenty of rest." The General's voice was sardonic.

"Besides, I've got a class to teach tomorrow. I already missed the lab I was supposed to instruct today, don't want to miss another day of work." He let his eyes close and sighed.

Roy winced in guilt. "Sorry, I didn't even think of contacting the university to let them know you were in the hospital."

Ed shook his head, not opening his eyes. "Don't worry about it, Al called 'em. Had my TA cover it for me…" his voice trailed off.

The two men sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes. When the silence lengthened, Mustang realized that _he_ had been the only one contemplating.

"Ed?" The teenager mumbled something and snuggled deeper into the chair. "Fullmetal, get up. Go home if you're going to sleep." No response; Mustang realized that this was a battle he wasn't going to win. He had just picked up his pen to begin signing paperwork when the boy's head tilted back and he began to snore.

"Damn it."

x

_Author's note: I just realized that I can respond directly to reviews! (Yes, I'm slow). If you have a question or a comment you'd like to get a response to, leave a review and I'll do my best to wrestle technology into submission and answer it._


	10. Chapter 10 Sorrow

_Author's note: Enjoy!_

x

Chapter 10

Sorrow

x

The man raised his hand to knock and paused, steeling himself. He normally prided himself on his presence of mind and cool judgment, and yet in that moment he had to fight down a nauseating wave of apprehension. He took a deep breath, silently reproaching himself. His brilliance and attention to detail had granted him success in both his professional and private life, and he wouldn't let a minor setback shake him; never mind that the consequences for failure were worse than public disgrace, worse even than death.

He shook himself from these morbid thoughts and rapped on the door. A pleasant voice inquired, "Yes?" He pushed open the heavy panel, schooling his features into indifference. His elderly superior sat writing at a large desk, fountain pen scratching away, never looking up.

The younger man smoothed out the front of his fine coat, aborting the gesture halfway when he realized he was fidgeting from nervousness. The situation was uncomfortably similar to those times in his youth when he'd been called before his father to answer for some misdeed or other. For a man of his age and stature, it was both degrading and frightening.

"Did you have something to report?" The voice was gentle and cracked with age, but there was an undercurrent of steel to it.

He twitched in surprise, forcing himself back to stillness. "Yes, sir. There's been a… delay. Our agent failed. He was captured while crossing the border."

"Did he say anything he shouldn't?"

"No, he followed his training. He was dead before they could begin questioning."

The pen slowed for a moment before continuing its journey across the page. "This was your man, yes? You chose him specifically for this delicate endeavor, hmm?"

He felt a bead of sweat roll down the center of his back. "Yes. I overestimated his abilities. It won't happen again." He tried to discreetly blot his damp palms on his trousers, realizing too late that it would leave dark marks on the silk.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll take more care next time. It would be a pity to let such a valuable resource go to waste, no?" The final word was almost purred.

"I guarantee that the alchemist will be recovered." He spoke with more confidence than he felt.

"Ah, you guarantee it?" There was an edge of danger to the words.

A large ruby flashed on his superior's hand, and he stared transfixed at the bloody glimmer it cast across the white paper. He took a deep breath, made himself look the old man in the face. "Yes."

His companion pinned him with a canny eye. "I'll hold you to it, hmm?"

He nodded, bowed, and let himself out. Once in the safety of the hall, he raised a shaky hand to his face, willing away the queasy sense of doom that washed over him. He simply had to step up his efforts at recapturing the Amestrian; he'd worked too hard to let some shrimpy brat ruin everything. Desperation dogged his heels as he hurried away, plotting his next move.

Soon the Fullmetal Alchemist would be his, and everything would be perfect again, as it should be.

x

It had been a long and grueling day, Ed's first back at work since his collapse. The undergrads in his advanced class had somehow heard of his hospitalization, and their questions and concern had bogged down his lecture. Strangely, more than a few of his students were more interested in his personal life than in his lecture on non-ferrous metallic composites.

He and Matthews had then had to go over what he'd missed in the previous day's lab, as well as plan the next several weeks' worth of course material. Fortunately his poor TA was both patient and kind, and they'd made good progress. Edward actually found himself looking forward to teaching the different lessons they'd planned. Several frustratingly ineffectual hours of research in the library had followed, capped off by his afternoon office hours. At least this time he'd had some students who needed actual help, a pleasant change from those who come only to flirt or pester him with personal questions.

His last job of the day loomed before him: though he'd only been hospitalized a short time, his desk was overflowing with paperwork. Most of the documents were requests for course overrides from students eager to get into his classes; these he shuffled through quickly before deciding to have Matthews deal with it, though he was tempted to dump them all in the trash. Underneath the overrides was a stack of departmental memos that required more careful reading.

Half an hour later Edward sat hunched in his office chair, staring blankly at an innocuous-looking folder sitting innocently in the middle of his desk. It was the last thing in the pile, but the reason he was sitting there rather than ripping open the file was crumpled in his trembling fist: a note. 'I thought you would want all the details,' it read, and below that, 'I'm sorry.' Two sentences, penned in Mustang's blunt cursive, kept him frozen in place.

Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath and reached for the folder. His shaking fingers undid the file's metal tabs, letting a sheaf of papers and photos slide onto his desktop. The first several pages were a report, written in military précis by an unfamiliar lieutenant. It detailed the carnage he had found at a certain archaeological research site in the high desert, complete with a count of the dead and photographs of the wreckage.

Ed felt sick to his stomach as he read over the dossier, barely able to comprehend the text through the roil of rage and grief that twisted in his chest. The bandits had done a brutally efficient job of stripping and torching the camp, carrying away anything of value and destroying the rest. They must have known there was no chance of anyone interfering in such a remote location, and had therefore taken their time. One of the female researchers had been raped, beaten, and left for dead. Horror-struck, he remembered the screams he had heard right before the bandits drugged him, and he had to grab his office trash can before he threw up all over the floor.

Several minutes and a trip to the washroom later he returned to his desk, determined to get through the rest of the report, no matter what else it might hold. After the précis came a long inventory of every piece of evidence and wreckage the soldiers had come across, including a brief description of the item's condition and occasional speculation on what it meant.

Mustang's staff had increased five-fold since his days as a colonel, and the men he'd picked for this mission were obviously among his most observant. Edward pored through their dissection of the evidence, impressed by the subtle nuances they'd been able to glean from the week-old crime scene. There was even a profile on the bandits that contained detailed analysis of their fighting style, equipment, and horses. The mystery lieutenant included conjecture about how the attackers chose their victims; if his suspicions were correct, the archaeological camp would have made an almost irresistible target.

The final section of the dossier was a casualty list. Someone must've gotten hold of the dig's sponsoring university; Ed couldn't think of any other way they could've gotten a complete roster of all the researchers. Next to each name was written the person's condition, whether alive, wounded, or dead, and a notation on where they or their remains were last located. The young alchemist let out a sigh of relief when he saw that most of the names fell under the 'alive' category. A note in the margin indicated that the researchers had regrouped after the bandits left, with the few of the more able-bodied carrying the injured to the nearest town. Most of the injuries seemed to stem from their escape; dehydration, scrapes, and sprains were the most common.

He ran his eyes over the list, both fearful and eager; he found Dr. Jacques' name halfway down the second page. Condition: alive, laceration to the left shoulder, severe concussion and head trauma. Location: Scheduled to be transported to the district hospital for further treatment.

Edward buried his head in his shaking hands, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He'd had more than his share of horrible experiences in his life, seen things that would leave anybody scarred, and yet something about this was hitting him hard. Perhaps it was the damned random senselessness of it; there was no political motivation, no struggle for power, no war. Just a group of selfish bastards hunting down innocent people. The most valuable thing the researchers had was their love of learning and their dedication to history, and yet the bandits had carelessly destroyed irreplaceable knowledge and artifacts for what? Camp supplies and the meager possessions of impoverished graduate students? Hell, _he_ had probably been their most valuable piece of loot, and the kidnappers hadn't even realized his true worth.

Something, perhaps an indrawn breath or a muffled step, made him realize that he was not alone. He straightened up, embarrassed at being caught in such a weak moment, only to pause, his breath frozen in his throat.

"Hi, Ed." Winry Rockbell stood in his doorway, clutching a suitcase in her white-knuckled hands.

x

Al strode through the unfamiliar hallways of the university, nodding and smiling at the various students and faculty he passed. He had spent the last several weeks enjoying life in Central, particularly his volunteer work at several of the city's animal shelters, but something was missing. He'd not had so much free time since his recuperation following the Promised Day, and even then his time has been taken up with the rigors and exhaustion of physical therapy. His body had been frighteningly weak after spending so long in the white void of the Gate, and his days were a never-ending cycle of exercising, eating, and sleeping. Through it all, Ed had been a cheerful and patient companion, his own experiences with physical therapy giving him insight into his brother's struggles.

Alphonse hadn't minded the hard work; compared to the nightmare following their attempt at human transmutation, his convalescence was a joyous time. Every sensation was startling and wonderful, and the shock of actually _feeling_ lingered with him for months. Even now, he would occasionally be overcome with wonder and gladness at even the simplest things: the softness of a kitten's fur, the rich smell of damp earth, the tang of wood smoke in the air. Once, early on in his journey West, he had stopped to buy lunch, and had frightened the innkeeper by weeping over the deliciousness of the food.

His emotions had settled down by now, but he still felt a drive to make the most of every second. His ambles through the city had been enjoyable, but he was itching to do more with his days. Now, walking through the busy halls of the university, he thought that he should consider academia. Part of Edward's employment package included free tuition for immediate family members; maybe it would be fun to take a class or two. They had both dropped out of school at such a young age, and though Edward had been happy to be released from the confines and discipline of their rural schoolhouse, Al had missed it.

The universe must be laughing now that _Ed_ was the arbiter of classroom discipline. The younger Elric grinned to himself, and made a mental note to slip into the back of his brother's classroom sometime to observe.

In fact, Edward was his current goal. He thought that his brother should have taken a bit more time before going back to work, but his grumpy sibling had vetoed it. Rash and quick-tempered he might be, but he was loath to disappoint Dr. Hanley. Alphonse had had the presence of mind to contact the university the morning after Ed's collapse, and the kind doctor had told him not to worry. Fortunately, he was only teaching two courses, and his teaching assistant had been able to cover for him. Al had taken it upon himself to walk his brother to and from work until he was confident the older boy was completely recovered.

He made the final turn to his brother's office, and saw that the door was half-open. He peered in to make sure Ed wasn't with a student, and froze, startled. Edward was there all right, but his arms were wrapped around a familiar and shapely blonde woman. Winry had his shirt bunched in her fists, and her face buried in the crook of his neck. Ed spied Al, and his eyes widened; his younger brother gave him a wicked grin and backed out, silently easing the door closed behind him. He strolled away, a cheerful whistle on his lips.

x

_Author's note: Reviews? Please?_


	11. Chapter 11 Mending

x

Chapter 11

Mending

x

"You shouldn't have gone so long without getting this fixed. It's bad for your muscles and joints." Ed, stretched out on his stomach as Winry tinkered with the back of his knee joint, shrugged.

"Yeah, I've been getting knots in my back from it." He smirked at her over his shoulder, "But my mechanic's pretty touchy about my automail. She gets jealous if I let anyone else work on it."

Winry smacked him on the back of the head. "Stop moving around, you're messing up my work."

He grumbled but lay still. For a few minutes there was no sound but the clacks and scrapes of tools on steel echoing around his apartment. He wondered idly where his brother had gone.

"Okay, you can sit up now." The young alchemist, clad only in shorts and a t-shirt for easy access to his metal limbs, sat up on the edge of the bed. "Try bending your knee."

He obeyed, and smiled at the result. "It's not doing that annoying clicking thing anymore."

She bit her tongue, forcing down the habitual nagging words, the anger and fear she felt every time he destroyed his automail. He looked so thin, so pale… She forced her mind back to the task. "One of the pistons was bent, so every time you tried to bend the joint it would snag. Take your shirt off so I can check your arm." Ed flushed, but pulled the garment off; Winry pretended to be distracted by her tool kit for a moment until her own blush faded.

When she looked back at him, and saw the fading scars of electrical burns that radiated out from where metal met flesh, she gasped. "Oh, Ed."

Her fingers gently traced over the marks, and he shivered. "The guys who kidnapped me thought it would be fun to combine electricity with my automail." He flexed his metal fingers. "I think it's better now, though. I haven't been having any trouble lately."

"Still, I'm going to have to check the wires in the port." He grimaced, but held still as she removed his arm. Winry chewed on her lip as she carefully examined the mechanism, "Nothing too bad, but some of the insulation is melted off in a few places. I have to fix that, or it might short out."

Edward nodded, flinching as she disconnected the damaged wires. She pulled a few reels of wire out of her kit; he watched her, impressed as her nimble fingers deftly prepped the wires. "How's Mr. Garfiel doing?"

"He's good, just the same as the last time we talked. He's trying to convince me to sign on as a full partner in the shop." Her eyes never left her work.

"So he wants you to stay in Rush Valley full time?" Ed's voice was carefully neutral, but his posture was tense.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to?" He was desperately trying not to let his true feelings spill out; years of wrenches to the head had taught him how little Winry appreciated other people ordering her around.

The girl paused, finally looking at him. "I don't know, Ed. Can you give me a reason not to?"

The air was thick with tension, and he decided to lay his cards on the table. "You could stay here, with me." Her eyebrows rose, and he rushed on, "I've got a steady job at the University, and I'm not moving around anymore. You could open up a shop here in Central, there's plenty of people who need a good automail mechanic, and you're the best there is—," He was cut off as an enthusiastic Winry tackled him in a kiss; he wrapped his good arm around her to keep from falling over, and responded with equal vigor.

A few breathless minutes later Winry pulled back, grinning. "That's a wonderful idea. I'll have Mr. Garfiel send me my things, and I'll start looking for a place to set up shop right away." Ed dragged her back in for another kiss, which left her gasping. "Well, maybe not _right_ away…"

It was quite some time before she got around to putting Ed's arm back on, but neither of them minded.

x

Mustang hurried across the courtyard, cursing the Undersecretary of Finance for delaying him. The damned man had no concept of brevity or time management, and his meetings invariably ran over, often without accomplishing anything of note. It had made Roy late for his next meeting; a meeting that he expected to be both interesting and frustrating.

He hustled up the steps and through the carved oak doors of the University Library, heading towards the north end of the building. The facility wasn't as massive as the National Central Library (even minus the branch that had burned down several years ago), but it had its own unique charm.

One of those charms was the set of well-appointed studies available for patrons. As a professor, Fullmetal had the right to exclusively reserve one for long-term research projects. He could access it at any time of the day or night, and leave his work in there without fear of it being disturbed. Better yet, it gave him and his guests a discreet and secure place to meet.

Upon reaching the study wing, Mustang stalked down the line of doors, looking for the right one. _Prof. Elric, Alch. Stud._ was neatly penned on a small placard pinned to the third door on the left. He knocked, and was greeted with a muffled, "Come in."

The atmosphere in the room was, if not hostile, certainly very tense. Hohenheim sat calmly at the large wooden table that filled the center of the room, while Edward stood staring pointedly out a window, obviously avoiding looking at the man. Al sat in between them, looking distressed; he smiled with evident relief as Mustang entered. "General! I'm glad you could make it."

Roy grimaced. "I would've been here twenty minutes ago if certain blowhards didn't like to hear themselves talk."

The boy looked confused. "What?"

Mustang waved his hand in dismissal, "Never mind. Let's get started." He shook Hohenheim's hand and settled into a chair of his own. Fullmetal dropped a folder full of papers onto the tabletop and sat down, his expression subdued. A few days' rest seemed to have done him good; in any case, he looked far less peaked than when he'd fallen asleep in the General's office.

After an awkward minute of silence, Hohenheim took the lead. "I think it would be best if we start from the beginning. Edward, can you tell us everything that happened to you, starting with how you heard about the dig site?"

Ed took a deep breath and straightened in his seat. "I'd been working with Professor Hawkins, an expert in ancient civilizations. He has a theory that the development of alchemy initially arose in conjunction with early religions, rather than in opposition to them."

"Like what happened in Lior?" Al interrupted.

His brother shrugged, "Sort of, but not with the intention to manipulate people. Based on several new translations of ancient texts, Hawkins thinks that early civilizations used alchemy to substantiate their beliefs- basically, science was proof of divine intervention." He paused, "Anyway, that's not important. Hawkins' daughter was getting married, so he decided to take several days off for the wedding. I didn't want to just hang around with nothing to do, so he suggested that I go out to a dig site that one of his colleagues was working on. Apparently they'd just found an unusual example of early alchemy, and Hawkins thought that they'd appreciate an expert's opinion. It sounded interesting, so I decided to go."

"Did you tell anyone besides Hawkins where you were going?" Mustang asked, a calculating expression on his face.

"No, just Al. Why?" Edward looked puzzled.

"I was wondering if it wasn't a coincidence that the dig site was targeted."

The blond shook his head. "No, I don't think so. The bandits thought I was just someone's apprentice, and the old guy who paid for me looked surprised when he figured out who I was. I bet they had some kinda standing order for alchemists, and any time the bandits came across one they'd sell 'em to the cabal."

"A standing order, huh?" The general made a note. "That might be useful to know. Go on." Edward carried on with his story, stopping occasionally to answer questions. His three companions listened seriously, taking notes and jotting down thoughts and potential solutions.

It took over an hour for Ed to relate everything that had happened, and he looked exhausted and wrung out by the end. Mustang straightened in his chair, cracking his stiff neck. "I think that that's enough for today. A few days of independent thought and research will give us the best range of ideas to work with, then we can meet again to hash it all out. Does that sound good?" He looked around the table, and the others all nodded in agreement.

Mustang and Hohenheim left the study, speaking in low tones to one another; Edward watched them go, then leaned on the table as he waited for his brother to gather up all his notes. "You wanna grab something to eat on the way home?" The two boys made their way into the corridor, and he carefully locked the door behind them, studiously ignoring his father and the General, who stood talking together a few doors down.

Alphonse shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, I can't. I promised I'd volunteer at the animal shelter today, and I wanted to stop by the University Registrar's office to get some information on taking classes first. Maybe later? Or you could invite Winry out somewhere."

"Nah, she's s'posed to be meeting with suppliers all day today. Don't worry about it; I'll see you later." He turned and slouched his way towards the main library, hands shoved in his pockets.

He'd only made it a few paces when Mustang's voice rang down the hallway. "Fullmetal."

Ed paused and looked back. "Yeah?"

"There's been signs of increased activity by your kidnappers. I'm assigning a couple of my men to keep an eye on you, but for today I want you to walk back with your father and his guard." Edward opened his mouth to object, but Mustang stared him down.

"Fine, whatever." He grumbled, turning back towards the exit. Hohenheim shook hands with the General and hurried after his son.

"I think they're getting along better." Alphonse spoke with a hopeful expression.

Roy smirked. "Your brother and I had a bit of a discussion."

"Thanks." The boy paused, hesitant. "Are the guards going to be following me too?"

Mustang shrugged. "They'll be discreet about it. You're not as well known as Fullmetal, but your knowledge and alchemy are just as good as his; if they can't capture him, they might go after you."

Al looked disheartened. "I guess I just got used to not having to look over my shoulder all the time. It was nice feeling safe for once." He shot an anxious look in the direction his family had gone.

"Don't worry, I've got my best people on the job." Mustang's voice rang with confidence.

Unfortunately, that confidence was misplaced.

x

They picked up their escort in main lobby of the library; a solid, taciturn giant of a man by the name of Lewis.

Edward automatically started walking in the direction of his apartment, but was stopped by Lewis' heavy hand on his shoulder. "We need to drop Mr. Hohenheim off first."

Ed frowned and shrugged the hand off. "But my place is only couple blocks away, and the safehouse is on the other side of town."

The bodyguard shook his head, unyielding. "The safehouse has its own guards, and I can't leave you by yourself. I can take you home once Mr. Hohenheim's under their watch."

The young alchemist nodded, a sour look on his face. "Fine. Let's go."

It was a beautifully clear day, perfect for taking a stroll, but the air hung heavy over their little group. Hohenheim tried to start up conversation a few times, but Ed's clipped replies put an end to that. Eventually he gave up and the two men walked in silence, their watchdog a few paces behind.

They had turned down a quiet street, almost to their destination, when three dark figures appeared from a side alley. Two immediately targeted Lewis, his massive strength ineffective against their lightning-quick reflexes. The stolid soldier only managed a few defensive blows before a sharp strike to the back of the neck left him sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

Ed barely registered all this, busy dealing with the third attacker. As fast as his opponent was, the Fullmetal Alchemist was faster, and his steel limbs gave his kicks and punches a brutal weight. No sooner was the man dispatched than the other two were on him, swift shadows darting around the golden-haired boy.

Hohenheim, recognizing that he was far outclassed, tried to stay out of the way. While he looked for some opening to help his son, part of his thoughts were taken up with admiration. Van had fought his fair share of battles in his youth, and his height and alchemical skills had made him a strong opponent, but he'd never had the kind of skill now displayed before him.

He'd seen Edward fight before, but he hadn't had the chance to really appreciate his child's true abilities, and he'd _never_ seen him fight without alchemy. Despite the handicap, the boy moved with an almost liquid fluidity, his heavy automail limbs as lithe and quick as flesh. He gave a feral grin, reveling in the ease of movement that he'd been missing these many weeks.

Though he took a few hits, he dealt out far more than he received, forcing his assailants back. A savage kick to the chest left one challenger coughing up blood on the ground, and the final man darted towards Hohenheim.

It was a mistake; the moment he took his attention off of Edward, the young alchemist sprang forward. A single, blindingly fast movement, and the man was down.

Ed stood panting, eyes darting around, checking for further attackers. A frightened whimper drew his attention to a nearby building. A shopkeeper, blanched white with fear, stood shaking in a doorway. The man clutched a broom to his chest, and stared wide-eyed at the scene before him.

Edward pointed at him and snarled, "Call the cops!" The poor man nodded and scurried back into his store.

Hohenheim nudged one of the would-be kidnappers with his foot, checking to make sure the man was unconscious. He looked up at his son, "Are you all right?"

Ed nodded, wiping sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeve; now that the adrenaline was fading, his weeks of illness caught up with him, leaving him tired and sick. He pushed down the feeling, forcing himself to stand straight. "Yeah, you?" His father eyed him doubtfully, but didn't argue; they stood for a moment, before Ed swore and knelt at Lewis' side.

"Here, let me." Hohenheim took his son's place, carefully checking over their erstwhile guard. "He's alive, but he needs to get to a hospital."

Edward glanced over the bodies littering the street, and sighed. "Mustang'll pissed about this." An annoyed expression crossed his face. "Damn, he's probably gonna make me write a report, too."

The distant wail of sirens drew closer, and two military police cars pulled around the corner, followed by an ambulance. Ed no longer had his State Alchemist credentials to back him up, but he was a familiar enough figure to the Central authorities that he avoided going in for questioning. He gave the basic gist of the situation, and told them to contact General Mustang's office immediately.

Mustang's name was enough to clear up the rest of the situation, combined with the warning that the criminals were part of a larger national security investigation. Lewis was bundled away in the ambulance, and the MPs took custody of their assailants.

Thirty minutes later, and father and son stood once more in an empty street. Edward was nursing a pretty spectacular bruise across his jaw, but they were both otherwise uninjured. He jerked his head towards Hohenheim, "Come on, I'll walk you home."

Surprised pleasure flashed across his father's face. "Thank you, Ed. That would be nice."

Ed blushed and grumbled. "Not doing it to be nice. Mustang'd cut me a new one if I let you go off without a guard."

Van smiled gently. "Of course." Edward eyed him suspiciously, but didn't press the issue.

They were around the corner and halfway down the next block when the young alchemist realized that he was alone. He turned to find Hohenheim a dozen paces behind, clutching his chest.

Ed's eyes widened, and he rushed to his father's side. "What's wrong, did they get you?" He scanned his father's chest for hidden injuries.

Hohenheim shook his head wordlessly, his face a sickly gray color. He sucked in air, and grabbed his son's shoulder for balance. Edward looked around frantically for help, but they were alone on the street. The older man silently crumpled to his knees, his grip on Ed's shoulder dragging him down too.

"Hohenheim! What is it?" Nothing but wheezing; frightened and desperate, Edward tried pleading. "Dad! Come on, please talk to me. We need to get you to a hospital."

Finally a response, hoarse and breathless, "No, no hospitals."

"You have to, I think you're having a heart attack."

Van shook his head vehemently. "Just… let me rest… a moment." The ancient man put his head on his knees, trying to take slow, deep breaths.

Edward didn't argue, kneeling silently for several minutes as his father gasped like a landed fish on the sidewalk. Fear kept his heart pounding in his throat, and the thought of losing this man whom he had hated for so long terrified him.

Finally Hohenheim straightened, a little color back in his face. "Here, help me up. I just need to get home and lie down a bit."

Ed willingly slipped his flesh shoulder under the taller man's arm. His father leaned heavily on him, and they slowly made their way the few remaining blocks to the safehouse Mustang had arranged. There was a plainclothes guard standing watch discreetly across the street, but when the man saw them limp into view he rushed to unlock the door and help them inside. Fortunately Hohenheim's flat was on the ground floor, and Edward settled his father onto the couch in the small apartment before taking the guard out into the hallway with him. They held a brief, whispered conversation before the young man returned, locking the door behind him.

Edward stood for a moment, staring at his father's hunched back, before going into the tiny kitchen. He rummaged around for a few minutes and returned with a glass of water.

"Here, drink this." Hohenheim obliged, his shaky grip letting a bit of the liquid slosh onto the carpet before he took a deep gulp.

Ed sighed, and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, bringing himself to his father's eye level. When he spoke, he was subdued. "Is this because you saved Al?"

Van pushed his glasses up his nose, and nodded.

"Was it the sacrifice? Like with Izumi losing some of her organs?" He looked ill at the thought. Hohenheim shook his head, and put his hand on his son's shoulder. Ed flinched away, and he let the hand drop. "It wasn't like that. I was lucky, the only sacrifice the Gate demanded was one that I was happy to give."

"Then why are you sick?" Edward's voice was hard, almost succeeding in masking his concern.

"I'm sick because I'm centuries old, my boy. Death was only delayed, not eliminated." His tone was gentle. "It's just catching up with me."

"Does Al know?" He fought to keep his voice from cracking.

"We haven't discussed it, but I think he's guessed. He comes over often to have lunch or to talk, so he's seen me have a few weak spells. General Mustang knows as well."

Ed angrily dashed a few traitorous tears from his eyes. "So I'm the only one who didn't know? What, you didn't think you could trust me?" Guilt suddenly washed across his face. "Or, I guess you thought I wouldn't care."

Hohenheim frowned sadly, "Ed, I never thought that. You wouldn't be so angry with me if you didn't care. It's my fault for failing you, and I didn't want to put more of a burden on you."

Edward took a deep, shuddering breath. "How long have you known?"

"I've known for sure for only a few months. I suspected… for quite some time. At first I thought that the pains and tiredness were the effects of being mortal again, and that I'd just forgotten what it felt like after so long. Once I started having attacks like the one today, I knew for sure."

"Have you gone to the doctor? Maybe there's something they can do to help." He spoke with forced optimism.

His father smiled, resignation clear on his face. "There's no cure for old age. And how would I explain it?"

The boy frowned stubbornly. "There's gotta be something we can do. You shouldn't have to sit and suffer like this. I bet Mustang's got some doctor he can put on the case."

"Ed…" Hohenheim trailed off, recognizing the look in his son's eyes. "All right, if the General has someone he trusts, I won't object. For now, though, I just need a bit of rest." He swung his feet up onto the sofa and eased back into the cushions with a weary sigh.

Ed stood, feeling suddenly awkward. "Is there, uh, is there anything you need? Or need me to do?"

Van shook his head, touched at his son's concern. "No, I need a bit of peace and quiet and I'll be fine again."

The younger man nodded, then hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Do you want me to stay for a while? Just in case?"

Hohenheim began to speak, paused. "Yes, that would be good." He turned his face towards the sofa back and was still. Edward pulled a book off of a crowded shelf and settled into a nearby chair, making himself comfortable, and a peaceful quiet descended on the room.

For the first time in fifteen years he felt as though he was home; his face hidden in the cushion, Hohenheim silently wept.

x

_Author's note: I've been struggling a bit with writer's block lately; to help jumpstart my writing, please let me know if you have any questions, confusion, or comments. Is there anything you hope will be addressed in an upcoming chapter? Anything you loved/hated about this one?_


	12. Chapter 12 Aftershock

_Author's note: Thank you to everyone who left a review!_

x

Chapter 12

Aftershock

x

Ed stalked into Mustang's outer office, a grim expression on his face. Havoc honestly liked the kid, respected him as an alchemist and a fighter, but all this storming around was reminding him how annoying the young man could get. Jean had _just_ managed to stack all of his folders high enough to camouflage a quick nap when Ed's door-slamming knocked everything all to hell. Hawkeye fixed him with a sharp look over the avalanche of files, and he silently bid farewell to his afternoon doze.

"Did the MPs call you yet?" Fullmetal seemed distracted, and Havoc noticed a livid bruise painted across the kid's face.

"No, why? What's wrong?" Hawkeye frowned in confusion, then cut Edward off as he reached for the General's office door. "He's at a meeting right now."

"Damn." Ed turned on his heel, looking indecisive.

"Edward." Riza's voice was firm, forcing the boy to focus. "What happened?"

"Hohenheim and I were jumped on the way back to the safehouse."

The other soldiers in the office straightened in alarm, but Hawkeye remained impassive. "Were either of you injured?"

He hesitated, "No, not really. Our guard was, though. He got taken to the hospital, but the medics said that he'd be fine once he wakes up. I knocked out the three guys who attacked us, and told the police to contact Mustang's office. Said it was a national security issue."

Hawkeye nodded at Fuery, who hurried out to find out why the message had never made it to its destination. Ever since Central Command was basically obliterated, the switchboards had been acting up; the repairs and renovations should've made them work better than ever, but this was not the first transmission to go astray.

Riza opened Roy's door, nodding towards Edward. "The General should be back soon. Why don't you sit and wait for him to debrief you, and I'll go get you some ice for your face."

Ed touched his forgotten injury, wincing when his fingers pushed too hard. "Yeah, thanks." He settled into his customary seat, a brooding expression on his face. Hawkeye watched him for a moment, hesitating. Something in his eyes made her back off, and she quietly closed the door, returning briefly to hand him the promised ice.

The General strode in fifteen minutes later, idly shuffling through his meeting notes as he walked. He paused by Hawkeye's desk. "Any messages?"

"Nothing urgent. Edward's waiting for you in your office." Mustang's eyebrows shot up, surprised that the boy would be visiting him when they'd seen each other only hours before. Hawkeye continued, concern lurking in her warm brown eyes. "He and his father were attacked. He said they're all right, but…" She trailed off, uncertain.

"What is it?"

"I think there's something else wrong. You might want to fish around." His normally taciturn Lieutenant's mouth tightened in worry.

"Thanks." He handed his folder off to her, mentally girding his loins. Lately, every piece of news concerning Fullmetal had been bad, and he was afraid the trend was going to continue.

The boy was hunched in his seat, an icepack pressed to his face. Roy paused for a moment in the doorway, looking him over. Riza was right, there was something _off _about Fullmetal.

"I heard you got in a fight." Mustang skipped salutations, closing the door behind him. "Tell me what happened." He sank into his desk chair, steepling his fingers before him.

Edward shrugged listlessly and recounted the attack as briefly as possible, obviously distracted. When he finished he paused, clearly wrestling something over in his head. Mustang observed his internal struggle for a moment, hoping the boy would bring it up without prodding. When the silence stretched on, he tried a little 'fishing.'

"Is something else worrying you?" Roy watched the interplay of emotions cross Edward's face: fear, sorrow, guilt, determination, anger. Mustang leaned forward, gentling his voice as much as he was able. "Is it something I can help with?"

His offer of help seemed to have broken through Ed's hesitation. "You know that Hohenheim's… sick… right?"

Mustang's eyes narrowed, trying to determine if Fullmetal really thought his father was just sick, or if he was using it as a euphemism. Something in the bleakness of the boy's expression told him the truth. "I know he's not just sick."

Ed's hands tightened into fists, fighting to keep the misery off his face. "Yeah. Well, I _didn't_. Know, I mean. Not until today." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat harshly.

"What happened?"

"It was after the police left, we were walking back to the safehouse. Hohenheim, he just… keeled over. I thought he'd been stabbed or something. He turned all gray, and he couldn't breathe. Fuck, I thought he was having a heart attack." Some of the frightening desperation of the moment colored his words, and Mustang frowned in sympathy. "I got him back to his apartment, and he started to feel better, but he told me… he told me that he's dying."

When he spoke, Roy's voice revealed compassion, but not surprise. "I'm sorry."

Edward took a deep, shuddering breath. "Thanks. Anyway, I was hoping you knew a doctor you could have take a look at him. He wants to keep the immortality thing a secret, but I thought you might have someone qualified to handle top-secret stuff."

Mustang frowned, and tried to be gentle. "From what your father's said, I don't think anything can be done. He was very certain about it."

Ed grimaced. "Yeah, I know. He said the same thing to me. I don't expect him to be cured, it's just… he's suffering. You should've seen him, he couldn't even stand up straight from the pain. Just because he's dying doesn't mean he has to do it in agony, right?" Fullmetal's wide golden eyes searched Roy's face, looking younger and more vulnerable than he had in a long time.

Roy hesitated, sensing a stumbling-block. "Will he agree to treatment?"

Edward nodded. "Yeah, he promised me he would, as long as it was a doctor you trust."

"I'll arrange it right away; you're right, he shouldn't have to suffer."

A weight seemed to have been lifted from Fullmetal's shoulders, though the sorrow still remained. "Thanks."

"In the meantime, I think it's been made abundantly clear that neither of you should go anywhere without guards. Walking in public should be cut to a minimum; I'll have Hawkeye arrange drivers for you. Your brother and Miss Rockbell should also be given protection."

Ed straightened in his seat. "I don't want them to freak out, especially WInry."

"Would you prefer they get kidnapped?" Mustang raised a sarcastic brow.

A petulant frown. "No, of course not."

"Then they'll be guarded, _discreetly_, and you make sure not to go anywhere by yourself."

Fullmetal scowled in annoyance, but mercifully did not argue. "Damn, I wish these guys would leave me alone."

"We're working on it." Mustang gave a feral grin, "I'm looking forward to finally getting to meet some of them."

x

"Sorry, Boss, they got away." Jean's voice held genuine regret.

"What?" Roy forcibly clenched his hands to stop himself from creating jets of rage-fueled alchemical fire. His men mentally plotted their escape routes in case his self-control failed.

"The paddy-wagon they were in was broadsided by another vehicle. By the time the MPs realized what was up, our suspects had skipped out."

"Damn." Breda's rumbled epithet summed up everyone's thoughts.

Havoc grunted agreement. "Gets crazier than that. One of the prisoners was pretty badly injured in the crash. Instead of dragging him along, the other two bashed his head in. Pretty brutal."

"We're going to have to step up our security measures. Clearly this group is more powerful and resourceful than I anticipated." Mustang growled.

Havoc watched from his perch on the edge of his desk, chewing on the end of his unlit cigarette. "So what d'ya wanna do, Boss?"

Roy paced for a moment, thinking. He'd been weighing his options for days now, but the recent boldness of the kidnappers' attacks had been the deciding factor. "Are you familiar with the myth of the hydra?"

Breda shrugged, not seeing the connection. "That snake-thing with all the heads?"

Fuery just looked confused, so Falman took pity and explained. "In the legend, there was a many-headed serpent which terrorized a nearby village. No one could kill it, because any time one of its heads was cut off it would grow two more in its place."

"In the legend, the only way to kill the hydra was to cut off all of its heads at once." Mustang smirked, rubbing his fingers in a snapping gesture. "To keep them from growing back, the hero had to cauterize the wounds with fire."

Havoc nodded, an answering smile spreading across his own face. "I like where you're going with this, Boss."

Everyone in Mustang's office took to their work with a renewed sense of energy, the kind of energy that could only be found in the knowledge that an enemy was about to become very close acquaintances with the Flame Alchemist.

x

_Al struggled to hold on, struggled to stay in the human world. Unable to move, unable to lift himself, all he could do was watch helplessly as 'Father' sent out a shockwave that threw everyone around him to the ground. Edward was flung like a ragdoll; a foot to the left, and he would've been impaled on a piece of rebar jutting from the rubble of Central Command. _

_As it was, he was knocked senseless by the blow, and Alphonse watched with horror as the insane homunculus advanced on his prostrate brother. Somewhere beyond his field of vision he could hear his real father crying out hoarsely, telling Ed to run. Al joined in, his own voice weakly trying to rouse Edward._

_At the last moment the boy stirred, realized the danger he was in; the blue crackle of his sibling's alchemy broke through Al's fading vision. He could feel himself slipping away as a crack edged through the border of his blood seal, as his armor succumbed to the terrible forces it had absorbed. Distantly, he could hear sobbing, a hysterical voice repeating his name._

_He turned his head slightly, as much as he was able. "Mei." She held his massive gauntlet in her tiny hands, tears pouring down her face. The sounds of fighting were dying away as his senses dulled, but he forced himself to focus on her face. She looked so sad… "It's gonna be all right, Mei."_

_Her voice trembled, touched that he was trying to reassure her even as his soul was being dragged away. "Oh, Alphonse."_

_Resigned that there was no more he could do, fog clouding over his vision, he sighed his last words. "Brother… win."_

_The physical world dissolved, replaced by the void of the Gate. He saw his own emaciated body sitting before him, some unknown force pulling him towards it like a magnet. It welcomed him, and he settled into his natural form._

_He lingered in the emptiness for eternity, or for only an instant- time had no meaning here, for it was a place apart from the world, a place of endless and patient endurance._

_There was another presence there with him. It was the grinning figure of god, of truth, of one, of all. Its eyeless face stared at him, smiling. "You again. I see you got your 'contents' back." The figure tilted its head. "You really think he'll come for you?"_

_Alphonse's voice rang with resolute confidence. "I know he will."_

_The Truth's grin stretched wider. "What d'ya think he'll sacrifice? His eyes? His heart? His soul?"_

_A muffled choking noise drew Al's attention. His eyes widened in horror; his brother was crawling towards him, blood dripping from empty eye sockets. He tried to move, to reach out to Edward, but he was frozen in place. Brother spoke, his voice thick and wet, reaching out blindly in front of him. "Al? Al! Are you there? Please… help me." Ed began coughing up blood, still continuing to grope clumsily at the air._

_Truth laughed, "This is what you wanted, right? To go home? Well, go on, then." The door at Alphonse's back creaked open, a multitude of black hands reaching out for him, wrapping around him. He was dragged screaming through the portal, leaving Edward behind to suffer alone._

"Brother!" Alphonse woke, not unto the numb whiteness of the Gate, but in his own bed. He sat up, resting his head on his knees as the remnants of the dream faded. He took deep, slow breaths, forcing himself to remember what had really happened.

Edward had never made it to the Gate, Hohenheim had seen to that. Van had appeared, and despite Al's protests, his father had paid the price. He'd allowed the last few Xerxian souls to be drawn out of him, along with his own alchemical power, before gathering his frail child in his arms and carrying him back into the world of the living. He'd woken, naked and shivering in the bright sunlit plaza of Central Command, nearly everyone he loved smiling around him.

That image calmed him; Al wiped the fear sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, realizing belatedly that his nightshirt was already soaked. Grimacing, he got up and changed into dry clothing.

It was late, or possibly very early; Ed was snoring away in his own bed, and Al watched his brother for a few moments to reassure himself that his sibling was safe and well. The attack earlier in the day had left him shaken. Though Ed had tried to pass it off as no big deal, his younger brother feared what it meant. Brother had been so sick lately; what if he wasn't able to fend them off the next time they attacked?

Trying to shake off both his bad dream and his worries, Al wandered into the living room, snagging some of his research texts along the way. A comfy chair, a cup of tea, and some reading should help to calm his nerves.

x

_Xerxes lay in the heart of the Great Desert, halfway between the modern-day countries of Amestris and Xing. Believed to be one of the continent's earliest cities to support over a million residents, Xerxes was the most influential population center of its age. Largely peaceful, it boasted paved streets, complex stone architecture, and an advanced economy at a time when Amestris held nothing but illiterate shepherds. It was, in many ways, the consummate success story of early civilization, and it stood as a beacon of knowledge and power for centuries._

_ Xerxes' prominence makes its decline all the more startling. A kingdom which had flourished for hundreds of years was wiped off the map in a single, cataclysmic event that baffles scholars to this day. Accounts from contemporary travelers describe strange, haunting ruins, devoid of life; a city of millions had become a tomb, a lonely monument to greatness. Some speculate that a virulent epidemic swept through the population, killing everyone it touched. Others believe that a natural disaster, such as a contaminated water supply or poisonous gases venting from the earth, could have destroyed the population while leaving buildings largely untouched. No proof has ever been found to support either hypothesis, and any witnesses who could reveal the truth have been dead for centuries._

_Whatever the cause, once a bustling hub of trade and commerce, today the ruins of the city serve as nothing more than a way station along the route between Amestris and Xing, frequented by bandits, refugees, and those superstitious enough to believe the stories of ghosts who linger in the empty streets…_

Roy frowned and closed the book; it had told him nothing he didn't already know, and what he did know was almost indistinguishable from fairy tales. Hohenheim could, and doubtless would, explain the difference between fact and fiction, but in the meantime his research was proving frustratingly fruitless. He'd gone through a small mountain of books and scrolls, and none of them were any more useful than what he'd just read.

He cracked his neck and slung the latest disappointment onto the pile, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. The trouble with four-hundred-year-old-mysteriously-vanished-cultures was that they were a damned sight harder to understand than modern ones; if he had a problem with Ishval or Xing, he could easily name off half a dozen people he could contact in a pinch. Xerxes… not so much.

His mantle clock chimed the hour: late. Later than a man with a beautiful woman curled up in his bed should stay awake. He stood and stretched, making his way upstairs. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and doubtless hold its own surprises.

Unfortunately, they would not be pleasant ones.

x

_Author's note: This was an important bridge chapter, but I realize it didn't have very much action. I promise, there's a ton more action coming up in the next few chapters! As always, I really appreciate reviews. They help me keep up the desire to write._


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